


You're Gonna See it Someday; It's Affection Always

by everybreatheverymove



Category: Veep (TV)
Genre: Angst, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Rating May Change, Suggestive Themes, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:07:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11430933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everybreatheverymove/pseuds/everybreatheverymove
Summary: In which Amy's pregnant, and Dan already has a plan mapped out for them.If she’s in this for the long haul, then he will be, too. If she’s keeping this baby (his baby), then he’s keeping her close by. If she’s ready for this, for change, for restless nights and shitty diapers at two o'clock in the fucking morning, then he’ll join her.They fucked, and now they're fucked.





	1. Decision

He’s thought long and hard about this. Well, that’s to say he thought of it, considered it for like twenty minutes, and then made up his mind.

He didn’t even need to consider it– not really, not hard at least. It all just seemed rather obvious, now that the cards were in place and the inevitable was no longer deniable.

He knocks once, twice, knows she’ll answer despite it being so late at night because she’s Amy, and she just will.

Dan bounces up in his heels, waits for the wooden door to Room 206 to open and its guest to greet him. He frowns. She’s probably wearing that awful fucking granny nigh- “What?”

Nope. She’s still wearing that dress that looks like a long blouse. It still stops at her knees, still shows off traces of her bra underneath. Oh.

“What?”

“What?” Amy scowls, eyes drawn tight and lips thin. Her body is hard, tense. Fuck. “ _You_ knocked on _my_ door, Dan.”

Right. “Can I come in?”

There’s no ‘please’, not even a hint of one coming soon. There are no cherries on top of this, no sprinkles to garnish their massive fuck-up.

“No. And you’ve got one minute to say whatever bullshit you’ve been reciting in your head before I scream.”

She wouldn’t. He’s sure of it.

“Well, aren’t you a fucking delight?” Maybe sarcasm wasn’t really the right idea to start things off, he judges based on the look she gives him. Whatever. “You really want me to let everyone on the floor know of our little sexcapade, Amy?”

“Goodbye, Dan.”

The door doesn’t shut because he pushes a hand up flat against it, and she removes her own, backing down against her will. She still glares up at him, though. She can still look like she hates him, at least.

“You could’ve told me you weren’t on the pill.”

On second thought, maybe blaming her isn’t gonna go down too well either.

Fuck him, and fuck his finger-pointing.

“Yeah, well, you could’ve used a condom.”

One hand curled around the doorway to her room, he sighs, slight aggravation showing in his tone (because she’s not letting him in, because she’s blaming him), “I was told-”

“A low sperm count doesn’t mean no sperm count at all, you fucking dildo.”

Dan smirks at that (because he’s an ass, after all), and he leans in closer, “More like a vibrator, angel.”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“Besides,” he shrugs, still towers over her even though she refuses to let him into the room, “You weren’t bitching about the lack of condom when you were riding my dick.”

“You told me not to worry, and because I was as drunk as a freshman sorority girl lying face down in a back alley, I didn’t worry.”

He drank more than she did that night, and they both know it.

“It’s not my fault you couldn’t keep up with me.” He’d been six drinks in, and she’d been five. So close. Damn him.

“You were the one who kept buying me drinks.”

“And yet I wasn’t the only one completely trashed at the end of the night.”

“Fuck you.”

“Can I come in?”

“No. Go back to your room. Go fuck an unsuspecting twenty year old. I don’t care.” She wants to close the door, to slam it in his face so hard his fucking nose bleeds, bruises, breaks.

He won’t budge though, and he’s practically already inside at this point anyway.

He’s asking out of common courtesy, which is _almost_ funny considering Dan is one of the rudest people she knows. He’s fake, too, though.

It’s ironic, because common courtesy was the sole reason she decided to tell him. She didn’t tell him because she wanted to, because she needed him or his money or his help. It was the right thing to do – to tell him of his impending fatherhood, if he wanted it – try as she might to fight it.

“I don’t want to fight, Amy.”

_It’s not good for the-_

“Well, if you’d have used the brain that the Wizard of fucking Oz gave you at birth, then we wouldn’t have anything to fight about in the first place.”

He kind of wants to tell her that they always find ways of arguing anyway, that there is always just something there as a source of heated conversation between them, a raw nerve left uncovered. He almost wants to remind her of how they once clashed over a flavours of fucking frozen yoghurt. He’s not blind. He knows how they operate, how and why and just how _well_ they work together.

But he doesn’t – doesn’t mention their ever-present, ever-lingering need for eye-drawing disputes – because he knows it’ll only make matters worse. And they’re already in pretty fucking rough shape as it is.

_We don’t have to fight now, Amy. We need to talk about this._

He’d tell her this if he wasn’t such a coward, if he wasn’t just two steps away from becoming a full-fledged sociopath, one who craved her attention and cherished her scoldings. It’s that five percent part of him needs to feel loved (so people say), he reckons.

He’d tell her this, but only if their deliciously twisted Machiavellian souls weren’t _so damn twisted_. He’d tell her this, but he kind of likes it when she hates him.

“Best put on those ruby slippers then, Dorothy. It’s gonna be a long fucking road ahead.”

Campaign trailing and tightrope walking and hormone-fucking-controlled screaming matches. All this until they become parents. All this until the emerald-tinted goggles wear off and all they’re left with is a fucking baby and a fuckload of diapers.

Fuck the wizard, and fuck that analogy.

“Can you leave?” Her lips purse, and he somehow knows that she wants to add a simple ‘Please?’ on the end of that. But she won’t. They don’t do manners. They don’t do _nice_.

Shoulders raised high and body hunched, her spine is probably fucking screaming out for help. He’s never understood how her spine hasn’t tensed up so much that it shatters into fucking pieces, but he’s always admired it from afar, from too close.

“No.”

_No, because you said you pregnant with my fucking kid, so, I don’t know, we should probably talk about it. Maybe? Huh? No? Well, tough shit, Brookheimer._

Dan lifts a brow, in that sharp way he does when he’s testing her, messing with her. Except he isn’t really messing now, but his face has never quite mastered the art of expressing anything other than boyish overconfidence or sheer disgust, so he just looks like a fucking prick instead. _Nothing new there then_ , Amy thinks.

“Why?”

_Because we need-_

“I ordered room service and told them to bring it here.” He shrugs, nonchalant, ignores the icy blue daggers her eyes bore into him.

Amy lets a moment pass before she speaks again, just watching as he ventures further into her room, not even asking for her approval now. He tosses that stupid beige coat down on the chair beside the dresser, sits down in said chair with one leg crossed over the other at the knee. And he’s grinning. Fucking asshole.

“What did you order?”

She didn’t dare eat enough at dinner, too distracted by his constant nudging and staring. They hadn’t spoken to each other all night; well, of anything other than Selina or _her_ baby that is the White House, that is. They didn’t talk about what was really at the back of both of their minds, pushing its way to the forefront as only their evil fucking spawn could.

“Cravings kicking in already?” He’s messing now, and they both know it.

“Fuck you.” She ignores his look, utterly despises the smug smile – no, smirk – he keeps plastered on his face. She sits on the bed, phone still clutched in her hands. Ring, goddamn it. Fucking _ring_. “It’s a surprise,” she hears him say, all proud and sounding much like his usual self it’s truly disgusting.

Fuck him and his voice. Fuck him and personality. Fuck him and his shitty genes. Fuck, him.

“You know I can just call someone to come and drag you out of here, right?” She’s not lying, but he knows she’s bluffing. Her hands are sweating, the backs of her knees hot against the bed’s blanket. Is it abso-fucking-lutely vital that he keep staring at her like that?

He taps one hand against the armrest of the shitty chair he’s sat in, sighs in a way that lets her know he doesn’t give a single flying fuck about her threat. “Feel free, Ames.”

“You could at least wipe that shitty grin off your face.” Amy offers, flicking blonde hair behind the shoulder when it starts to stick against her neck, all warm and sweaty. Maybe she’s not pregnant, maybe she’s menopausal already and having a hot flash. Her doctor would disagree.

_Just as I thought. You’re pregnant. Congrats, Miss Brookheimer. Would you like to call anyone?_

She’d thought about it, about calling him then and there, about letting him know straight away. Hell, she’d thought about dialing his number and just handing the phone over to her doctor to let him learn the _wonderful_ news from someone else.

_Hello? Mr Egan? Congratulations are in order. You’re going to be a father._

She’d internally debated all options before making her decision. She’d considered every alternative available to her before making up her mind. She’s getting older, and time is moving faster, and she’s changed (somewhat) as a person.

Fuck.

It’s winter for fuck’s sake, why is her room so hot? Fucking heating.

“You don’t have to be involved. I’m not gonna hunt you down for fucking child support.” She’s a working woman with a job – undetermined, uncertain, unspecified as of yet. She can be a single mother if she has to be.

And she can picture him working alongside her all day everyday, purposely ignoring her pregnancy, and then intentionally avoiding all mention of the kid she’d surely talk about every once in a while. He’d be good at pretending, she knows.

If she told him to go, he’d walk. Quite happily, she thinks.

“You can get the fuck out.”

_Of your room? Of your life?_

Constantly circling each other’s orbit, casually dancing around an endgame. Maybe they had just been in denial of the inevitable.

“I think I’ll stay right here, thanks.”

His tone contradicts his meaning. He’s smug, but he’s serious.

_I’m staying. I’m here. This could work for us. This could for me._

This is a golden opportunity, and not just for him. Maybe it’s a blessing disguised as a fucking embryo, all devil horns and shit-eating smiles.

There’s a knock on the door before he can get another word out, suggest something she’ll either love or loathe. Dan hops up to answer the door, brushing past her legs with the coolest of drafts. She, despite herself, likes it.

“Room service.”

The door swings open, revealing a short white guy dressed in a low rent khaki-coloured uniform. He looks as though someone just killed his family pet, and Dan barely acknowledges him. Poor fucker.

He grabs the handle of the cart – the whole thing, not just a tray – and wheels it into the room before letting go of the truck to pull out some already-counted cash from his back pocket to tip him, “Thanks, buddy.”

Door slamming shut, he spins back around to come face to face with Amy, only a couple of steps away from him, eyes squinting in distrust. He smiles – that motherfucker – and makes a note of her phone lying on the bed. Finally.

“What kind of game are you playing?”

“Why do you assume I’m playing a game?” He has a new job, his own fucking business for Christ’s sake. He is settled… kind of. He’s a grown adult who fucks people and fucks with people as a favourite past-time. “Jesus Christ, am I not allowed to order food for the mother of my child?”

She feels something twist into a knot in her stomach at that, and it rises to burn in her throat. Bile. Vomit.

_Don’t ever fucking say that again. Please. Jesus._

“You didn’t eat much at dinner.”

“You kept staring at me, and I had shit to do.”

“And because I was staring I know you weren’t eating.”

She chooses to ignore the slight hint of concern he’s showing. He’s a fucking snake with the eyes of a hawk. Of course he’s up to something.

She knows him, better than anybody else probably ever has, ever could.

“And now you’re gonna eat.” He reaches down, picks up a rounded bowl. “Eating for two now, Amy.”

She’s seriously gonna stab him with a fucking spoon.

The motherfucker ordered what looks like one of everything, and she would thank him if he wasn’t just so naturally, perfectly, plainly sketchy.

“It’s your fault, by the way.” She’s not claiming responsibility for their latest fuck-up, “You were the one who said you couldn’t get your fucking swimmers to the finish line.”

He holds up both hands, blamelessly, “Then I guess you’re just an extra special swimming pool.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe later I’ll let you.”

Can she kill him with a spoon? Can they legalize spoon-killing? Fuck, she’ll settle for spooning his eyes if she has to.

Eyes narrowing, Amy finally gives in. Not for his sake, but because she’s hungry as fuck and there are like twenty dishes in front of her. Screw him, him and his tall, towering ass.

“Fine.” Those cravings aren’t going to kick in for some time, she knows, but she’s desperately craving something sweet. And that bowl full of caramel – is that fucking _salted_ caramel? – ice cream looks near orgasmic.

Dan smirks, so much wider than before that it almost resembles a true smile, when she snatches the white bowl containing the dessert from his hands and sits back down on the mattress, completely ignoring the flashing notifications on her phone.

They can get to work tomorrow. Selina and her attention-seeking ass can wait. Nothing’s going to change because Amy ignored a couple messages. Well…

“Good?”

She’d toss the bowl at him if she wasn’t so damn hungry. So instead she just nods and raises a brow, challenging him, “Join me?”

He brushes off her invitation, making his way back over to the uncomfortable chair by the dresser, “You told your mom?”

_Why, because you wanna fuck her too, and claim vagina-rights to all three Brookheimer women?_

It takes everything she has in her to bite her tongue, to stop herself from saying this. Fuck him, and fuck her sister.

“She does love me.” He speaks more to himself than to her, and Amy scowls, lowering the pot down into her lap. It’s cold through the material of her dress, and she’s grateful.

The metal spoon clangs against the side of the bowl when she lets it slip from fingers, and she’s somewhat surprised when Dan leans forward and grabs it from her hands. Why the hell are his hands so warm? He’s supposed to radiate frost, not heat.

“My dad fucking hates you.”

“Your dad would hate anyone who touched you. Not just me.” He’s softening the blow to his ego, she notes. Asshole.

“He liked Buddy.”

“Yeah, but _you_ didn’t.”

He’s not entirely wrong. Damn him.

“Whatever.”

There’s another bowl being placed into her lap then, and his hands remain cupped around the porcelain until she reaches for it. He retracts, carefully avoiding her touch.

“Are you trying to make me fat so you can add that to your list of reasons to bail? That’s low, Dan. Even for you.” Her tone is mocking, and he knows it. So he grins, because he knows her better than anybody.

“If I was gonna bail, I wouldn’t be making sure you were looked after.” It sounds deeper than he means it to be, he reckons, “Amy, if I was gonna abandon you…,” Dan pauses, glances down at her stomach for only the shortest of seconds, “or _it_ … I wouldn’t be in here.”

Shit. He gulps, almost sighs until she cuts him off.

Eyes closed, she breathes through her nose, does that thing where her neck strains and her body tenses, “You can’t abandon someone unless you were ever there for them in the first place.”

“Well, I’m fuckin’ here, aren’t I?”

 _You getting worked up there, Danny?_ Gary would grin like a toddler on a sugar rush and Jonah would come out with some shitty joke that only he would ever find funny. Selina would tell him to sort out his goddamn sour puss and get on with it.

His lips are drawn thin, brown eyes wide, throat tight.

“Why the fuck _are_ you in here?” She wants to shout, but it’s late and Leon fucking West is in the room next to hers. Then again, that twice-flushed turd’s probably got a glass pressed up against the wall right now anyway, eavesdropping on a conversation she’d rather not be having.

He’s a bastard – a heartless one, he knows – but he’s not a fucking deadbeat.

Fuck, his dad’s a deadbeat and his mom’s a saint, but that never stopped him from becoming Satan’s whore in male form. But that didn’t mean he wanted to follow suit.

(And her family’s no picnic either. He doubts she wants to turn out like either one of her parents.)

(And he definitely – oddly, he knows – doesn’t want her to end up like her sister, all unfathered kids and fried aspirations.)

(She’s not just some random woman that he fucked.)

(She’s smart, and his equal.)

(She’s fucking _Amy_.)

_So we jump together. Butch and Sundance._

If she’s in this for the long haul then he will be, too. If she’s keeping this baby (his baby), then he’s keeping her close by. If she’s ready for this, for change, for restless nights and shitty diapers at two o'clock in the fucking morning, then he’ll join her.

No point in beating a dead horse when it’s already done and buried. No point in delaying the inevitable any longer, pushing fate past its due date.

They fucked, and now they’re fucked.

_We jump together._

(She’s _Amy_ , for fuck’s sake.)

“Because you’re gonna fuckin’ marry me.”


	2. Revelation

In truth, her reaction was exactly what he'd been excepting, what he'd envisioned.

Of course she was gonna be all headstrong and independent. Of course she was gonna turn him down and laugh in his face. She _is_ Amy. She wouldn't be herself if she hadn't.

"Uh, no, I'm fucking not?" She'd raised a brow, face all blank and shit. "Jesus, fuck, Dan!"

"What?" He'd smirked, standing tall and confident. "You could do worse."

"I could do better."

"Not while you're carrying my kid."

"True, but better doesn't have to mean I have to have someone, you dumbass. Maybe I'll be a single parent." Amy had shrugged, shoulders tense, collarbones raised.

"I don't doubt you'd make a great single mom, Amy." Dan offered, complimented, taking one closer when she takes one back, steps towards her as she backs away from him. "I'm just saying, it might be easier if we did this together."

"You wanna raise a kid? You?" She couldn't help but laugh at that, all sharp teeth and true smile.

It's definitely not that he _wants_ to, fuck no. It's more that he feels the desire to because there are certain perks to having a child. Especially given their... situation.

"Dan, you wouldn't even be able to look after a fucking goldfish. You'd forget to feed it, and never clean its bowl-"

With a roll of his eyes, he'd scooped up his jacket and rounded her, heading for the door. "Think about it."

"Marrying you?" Amy had scoffed, nose crinkled, eyes squinting, "I gotta say, you aren't really selling it to me. I don't know how you've already gone through like six fiancées."

"You'd be surprised how devoted I can pretend to be, Ames."

"So you'd be pretending to give a shit about the kid?"

"I didn't say that, did I?" He'd pulled the door open, stepped one foot through but kept a hand wrapped around the frame, just as he has on the way in.

It's not like he doesn't already give a shit about her...

He'd leant over her then, and she'd immediately regretted ever following him to the door. He's warm where she's cold, and it's so strange.

Dan is not supposed to radiate warmth. Dan usually gives off fucking radioactive energy because he's toxic to be around. So what the fuck?

"Marry me, Brookheimer."

Of course he'd smirked. Of course his proposal had been more grossly self-indulgent than charmingly sincere.

"Fuck off, Dan." If he didn't have the face of a mass murderer, if she didn't know him all too well, the tone of his voice would have almost made it -- his lame excuse of a fucking _proposal_ \-- sound honest, sweet, caring. His douchebag face hadn't gotten the memo, though.

He'd left after that, after she'd shot him down blank and damn near shoved him through the doorway.

Okay, fine. He's not at all surprised by her reaction, but that doesn't mean he's accepted it. Or that he's _going_ to accept it any time soon.

He's not creepily persistent, by nature. He's as far from being like Jonah as he could get, he likes to imagine. He doesn't force people into things, doesn't like it when others force people into things. Physical sexual harassment? Fucking disgusting.

But, despite this, he isn't exactly a saint. Far fucking from it. He's used people to his own advantage (countless times now, he gloats), and he's never really apologised for his behaviour.

He knows he's an absolute asshole, and that there's no fixing him. He wouldn't even try to change if the opportunity arose. But he's game for anything, adaptable like a motherfucking political chameleon who's ready to blend in with anything red, white or fucking blue.

And this? Knocking up his attractive coworker, who semi-successfully served as a former president's senior advisor? Whom he has a publicly acknowledged 'romantic' history with?

Knocking up America's reluctant poster-child for pretty little blonde girls who can grow up and create change, or at least prove that change is within us all? Knocking up the snappy, shrill (he's never really agreed with _that assessment_ ), petite all-black wearing right-hand woman of Selina Meyer?

Having a baby with Amy Brookheimer while working alongside her every damn day and night, campaigning for a post-presidency President who finally (kind of, _almost_ ) has the nation's full support behind her?

Golden.

Hell, he can probably work the whole moving-to-Nevada-to-shack-up-with-a-governor-come-cowboy thing into this, if he has to. He can _angle_ it so that bland talking tree branch is once again humiliated.

 _Fuckin'_ golden.

So, the next morning, when they'd been leaving the hotel to head back to New York, he'd talked Kent into swapping cars so he could slide in next to Amy, much to Selina's dismay.

"What the fuck, Dan?" She's rubbing in some hand cream, the tube of which Gary is putting away in some seemingly endless pocket deep inside the Leviathan.

"He had to talk with Ben about something, so we-"

There's a hand held up, and Selina is already signing out of this would-be conversation, eyes cast out the window, "Amy, did you get those emails I had Gary forward you?" She's eyeing the blonde beside Dan.

"Yes, yes." She's rummaging through her purse (on a weird angle), hair falling in her face, and then she's yapping on about something Dan only has half a mind to listen in on because there are eight new messages on his phone and there's honestly a lot more interesting.

Amy can't find whatever she's looking for, though.

 _It'd be easier if you uncrossed your legs, for fuck's sake._ Dan just watches her then, all breathless sentences and small hands. It's only half a surprise when he realises that he's _missed_ this -- being around her all the time, working together, watching her in her element. It's like getting a good look at a wild animal on the brink of extinction flailing around in its natural habitat. _Amazing._

She'd told him her talents were being wasted all year, especially since coming back to work with Selina and co, and (truthfully) he's glad she's found a purpose again. Or, rather, that Selina seems to have _found_ a purpose for her again.

He won't lie, of course Selina's hiring of BKD had something to do with the guys -- himself included, _obviously_ \-- suggesting Amy be made campaign manager. She'd been good at it last time (after _his_ breakdown, before _her_ breakdown), and she'd been under-utilised so far in the Meyer post-presidency, by Selina herself and that thumb-twiddling twig of a man she'd temporarily hitched her wagon to. Jesus, he couldn't stand him.

There's a reason they'd almost snatched her up (oh, _so close!_ ) to come work with them, and it hadn't even been Dan's idea to bring her in in the first place.

Ben had propositioned them (because she's like a weird surrogate daughter to him, a child he actually would have wanted), Kent had nodded and said something along the lines of 'She's definitely an asset. Her numbers are far superior to any other candidate's we've interviewed so far'.

And Dan had simply agreed (maybe a little bit _too_ eagerly even, despite himself), felt a rather strange gnawing sensation eating at his insides when she'd appeared in the office that day. Sure, he'd smiled like a fucking freshly fucked dick coated in slickness in human form. Sure, he'd been having some frankly fantastic fantasies of her as of late, all hot and horny and _his._

But maybe it was just because they hadn't been together in so long, hadn't shared more than (just) a couple of drinks in over a fucking year. Maybe he was only grinning like a goddamn teenager that day because he'd missed her, and he quite liked the idea of getting to work with her and her mind again.

She's fucking smart (brilliant, in a way, in _her own_ way). She's actually competent, and good at the job given to her, which is a fucking rarity these days. She is an asset, Kent's not wrong about that; that's why he'd quite liked the idea of having her around a lot more.

Because he wanted to work with her again, mess her up again, rub her the wrong way (or the right way) again.

It definitely wasn't because they'd finally given in and fucked after years of built-up tension, and he was more than willing to do it again.

It definitely wasn't because he'd missed touching her, even just the sharpness of her elbow, even just one hand on her arm.

It definitely wasn't because he missed having her tear him apart and then be the only one he would let build him back up again.

It wasn't because she was the only person he actually _liked_.

She's finally found her phone and she's scrolling through her calendar, ignorant to Dan's peering eyes. _Nosy prick_.

She's got some dates marked in blue, while all others are red. And it's only when Dan realises the spacing between all the blue dates that he works it out.

"Amy."

Locking her phone then, she snaps her head up and furrows both brows. "I'm sure Richard could do it, ma'am. I've got a doctor's appointment that day."

_What can Richard do? What are your plans, Amy?_

"And your appointment is more important than my pre-campaign campaign, yeah?" Selina licks her teeth, shakes her head with disdain. Dan is gonna fucking strangle her scrawny neck one day. "Don't fuck this up, Amy. I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt here."

 _Yeah, because your last run at a presidency would've been even half as successful if she hadn't been campaign manager_ , Dan thinks.

Fuck, he'd done the job himself. He knew just how well Amy had done when she was given the job. Better than him, better than fucking Kent. (But that wasn't saying much.)

"I won't, it's just- It's unmovable."

"You know what else in unmovable? This fucking crick in my neck." Selina's writhing, waving a hand over at Gary as though he can miraculously cure it.

When she's too preoccupied with Gary's long fingers rubbing at her neck (okay, nobody needs to see that) to pay them any mind, Dan looks over down at Amy, shifts away from Richard so he's closer to her than the Yogi Bear of a man. _(When the fuck did he get in here?)_

"Thought about it yet?"

"No, Dan." She grits her teeth, avoids his gaze.

"You haven't given it any thought or you're still giving me a solid 'no'?"

"Both."

He frowns at that, crosses one knee over the other so his leg brushes against hers. He slips his hand down to his knee to scratch it, but then he taps his index finger against the outside of her thigh.

"We don't have a lot of time, Ames."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

_Before you start to show. Before people notice and words gets out._

"Just a few months."

"What are you, the fucking Riddler? Christ." Amy sighs, encloses her phone in one hand, palm sealed shut, and she folds her legs tighter, moving away from his wandering hand.

Dan glares down at her from out of the corner of his eye, but he keeps facing the back window, right beside Gary's fucking balding head. _(How old is he?)_.

Is she seriously going to play this game? Fine. He can play, too.

"I'm just saying, your sister would be better off if she married that guy."

Amy's body tenses then, and she purses her lips. Dan beams beside her, all confident and cocky. Oh, no. Oh, _fuck_ no. She shakes her head, false smile instantly plastered over her face, "My sister can fend for herself. And it's none of your fucking business."

"I'm not saying she can't do it alone, I just think having the dad around would be better for everyone involved-"

_We are not having that conversation again already, you stupid bastard._

"It's not your decision to make, though."

"No, but I think she should consider all her options." Selina is staring at them now, frowning and curious. _Fuck_.

"Oh," Richard pipes up from beside Dan, all smiley and wide-eyed like a slow child yet to be diagnosed with idiocy, "I see what you're doing." He nods, "You guys are talking about Amy being preg-"

Dan nudges him then, a hard jab to his ribcage, and he kicks him in the shin at the same time. Turning to face Richard, his expression shoots off a very clear message.

_Shut the fuck up or I'll kill you, you dopey Chewbacca looking fuck._

"Amy's sister being pregnant?" Richard corrects, pulls on his tie as his smile lowers, "Sorry, had something caught in my throat just then." He clears his throat as though that'll confirm it.

"Something to tell me, Dan?"

"Hmm?" The man turns his head, "No, ma'am. We were just discussing Amy's sister's situation."

"That fucking trainwreck? No offence, but your sister's a bit of a drip, Ame. I don't know anyone who'd fuck her well enough to get her pregnant. Up the ass, maybe, if that was an option."

"No offence taken, ma'am." Amy smiles, clearly enjoying the unintentional shade thrown at Dan.

_Take that, you prick._

* * *

 

When they finally get back to New York, everything moves so fast that they barely have time to talk, much to Amy's relief and Dan's dismay.

She'd been unwilling to even acknowledge his existence on the plane, and he'd been seated too far from her to even bother trying to talk. _Bitch. Of course she'd booked far away seats. Damn it._

He'd made his move when they all got settled in, though.

It was already the next day when he saw her again, dressed all in black, walking around Selina's offices like she owned the place. _Good_. He'd stepped out of the elevator, slid his phone away, and tugged at her arm a little too lightly for anybody to notice.

"Can I talk to you?"

"No, you may not." She shrugs him off, flicking long blonde hair over her shoulder and resting her iPad down on a desk as she talks to one of the interns. She says something about needing to get in touch with the head of some board of directors, about needing a meeting, and Dan only gives half a shit about whatever is or isn't happening.

Then she's springing back around, facing him indirectly because Gary has stopped between them both, "Amy, can you try this coffee?" He's staring down at the mug in his hand like some kind of mentally challenged imbecile.

 _Nothing new there_ , Dan notes, watching the scene unfold with half a frown, half a smile playing on his face. How he _hasn't_ missed this - watching the complete travesty that is Selina's bagman try to go about daily life, try to act like a normal human being. _Fuckin' imbecile_.

"It's a new brand we're trying, but it's decaf and I'm not sure Selina's gonna-"

Amy sighs, eyes closing with a groan, "Just give me the fucking coffee, Gary." She practically snatches the cup from his hands, doesn't bother blowing it, doesn't mind the boiling steam escaping past the rim of the mug.

Dan doesn't know if it's the taste that does it, or the sheer fact that she's drinking coffee -- he guesses it's the latter -- but she's spewing the brew out before Gary can even get another word in, and there's a light brown liquid splashing all over the wooden flooring suddenly.

"Oh my God!" Gary's hurrying for towels, all wide-eyed and gawking. Amy's still holding the mug, but she's wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and clearing her throat as though to rid herself of the taste.

"What the fuck, Amy?" Yeah, sure, play along, Danny. He approaches but keeps some distance, though he grabs the cup and places it on a nearby desk. "You could've at least tried to reach the sink." He nods his head over to the kitchen.

"Fuck you." Seems that's her new favourite greeting these days. "Why are even here?"

"You know what, I don't know. I mean, Jesus Christ, I'm here for two seconds and you're nearly puking fuckin' coffee in my face."

"Yeah, make this all about you."

Gary returns then, kneeling down to dab paper towels over the stain, checking around to make sure the drink hasn't reached any of the nearby rugs. _Imbecile _, Dan shakes his head.__

____

"Amy, are you okay?" He trails off, gets up to check her over, hands on her shoulders, "I'm so sorry."

"It's fine, Gary." She shakes him off, presses a napkin to her lips, "Just don't give that shit to Selina or she'll ruin her carpet."

Aversion to coffee? Check.

* * *

Telling Dan was the easy - well, _easier_ \- part; it's letting Selina know that her campaign manager is knocked up (and _staying_ knocked up) that's going to be a struggle.

But she has to do it. If that incident was anything to go by, she isn't exactly going to be able to hide it for very long. She's an avid coffee drinker by nature, so someone is surely going to notice something wrong very fucking soon.

An Selina will either be delighted for her (and already plotting how to use an unborn baby as a campaign strategy), or the insults will come pouring out and she'll let Amy know just how badly she screwed up this time.

Knowing Selina, it'll probably be the latter.

Or she'll just be surprised that Amy could even get pregnant in the first place, given she thinks the younger woman's flirt game is so weak in the first place. Fuck, she unsuccessfully tried pimping her out to Leon the very same night she slept with Dan.

 _I can be very flirtatious_.

Maybe it wasn't a case of her being very good at flirting, or seducing anyone, or even attracting anyone, but more a case of: _Amy, you know Dan. You've done this before. And, hey, you're both miserable. Fuck each other out of convenience. Fuck the misery out of each other._

That's the way she's choosing to see it, at least.

"Ma'am, do you have a second?"

"Sure, Ame." She rounds her desk, sliding manicured hands over the glass top. "Hurry it up, though. We've got that meeting with non-donor donors soon." She damn near winks, flashing her teeth, but her smile drops when she sees Amy's serious face.

"About earlier," she starts, hand holding her phone pressed tightly against her abdomen.

"The coffee thing?" Selina points a finger, "I gotta tell you, it's a good thing Gary's not a barista, because _fuck me_." She nods to herself, "At least he can clean."

She's tapping one hand on the desk, and Amy can tell she's discreetly trying to check the time on her watch."

"Ma'am, I-" She sighs, moves her hand to her chest when she realises where it was, "My sister isn't pregnant."

Selina pulls a face, shrugs one shoulder. She chuckles (in some kind of careless way), and snorts, "Great. Good for her."

"I am."

The older woman's eyes darken then, and she squints, nostrils flaring, "What?" With a breath, she swallows sharply and Amy immediately regrets telling her. _Fuck_.

"I'm pregnant, ma'am." Her brows knit, and she's so tempted to fold her arms so tight around herself. Her job was finally secure, and now she's fucked it up.

"Jesus..." She's calm for a moment, pacing back and forth in front of the desk, heels loud, making Amy want to run for the hills, "Fuck, Amy!"

Taken back by the exclamation, the blonde sighs, moving one hand out to hold up a finger. "It's fine, though. I'm not... going to let this get in the way of my work-" she tries to reason, finds herself cut off.

"Damn fucking right you're not!" Selina shrieks, grits her teeth with a pissed-off look on her face. "For fuck's sake, Ame."

She shakes her head, approaches Amy with wide eyes, the sound of her bracelet clanking against her watch unsettling her campaign manager, "Who's the daddy, huh? It better not be that fucking tall drink of hick piss you were screwing in Nevada."

She wants to correct her pronunciation (again), wants to shudder at the memory of Buddy.

"I'm not having that twangy stick insect tagging along on my campaign trail, Ame."

"It's not Buddy, ma'am."

"Good. Then I don't give a shit whose it is." She shrugs (again), and Amy almost wants to just blurt it out anyway.

"I'm perfectly healthy. My doctor says-"

"Great." Selina's rounded her desk again, picking up her iPad, continuously swiping left on the screen. "As long as you're alive, and able to work, I'm happy for you? Should I be happy? Or should I be sending a car to take you to the nearest abortion clinic?"

"No." Oh, God. "No, I'm keeping it. I want it."

 _Does_ she, really, truly? Probably.

"Well, I don't know _why_ you would. I mean, you've seen how Catherine turned out, right?" She waves a hand over to her bookshelf where the smallest picture of Catherine sits, framed. Her eyes widen even more (if at all possible), "And you're not exactly the best with kids, Ame."

 _Thanks for the reminder_.

"I know, ma'am."

As she talks, her face is downcast to her phone and she hasn't noticed the calculating look on her boss' own face. "It's not fucking Leon's, is it?"

"No." Amy almost feels actual puke rise to the surface at the sheer thought of that, of _fucking_ Leon West and having his baby, "Fuck no."

"Good. Having just one of those hairy scrotum sacks on legs is bad enough, we don't need another one trailing after you, too."

He does work for her now, though. He is better at his job than Mike, though Amy has really found herself _missing him_ , as of late. He'd been with her since the start, before Dan wormed his way in, before Ben joined Team Meyer, before Kent hopped on the bandwagon for the statistics of it all. Fuck, he'd been around before Sue.

Amy ponders, fakes a smile. Doesn't she _want_ to know who did the deed, though?

"You can go now."

Fine, then. Taking Selina's direction, Amy spins back around on her heels, eyes closing momentarily as she licks her lips, breath held between tight lungs.

Fuck this. Fuck everything.

"Try to not get knocked up even more, Ame. I don't wanna have to call your parents and tell them their little girl's got herself into trouble."

She can tell Selina's teasing her, and honestly just... _fuck this_.

* * *

"She knows."

"Yeah? You tell her?"

"No, she fucking sensed it via the magic of female intuition."

Fuck him and his fucking incompetence. Maybe she should have told Selina before she told him. Maybe Selina would have had him assassinated in his sleep or some shit.

Dan nods, stabs his fork into his unfinished salad and leans back in his seat, "Does she know it's mine?"

Amy groans at that, lets her head drop into her hands, all rough knuckles and tightly wound shoulders. "Can you not say that out loud, for fuck's sake?" Her hair falls straight, almost falls in her lunch.

Rolling his eyes, Dan takes a sip of his water, toys with the straw as he reaches over and steals a cherry tomato from her dish, brushing her hair to the side. Why the fuck is it so long?

"Gonna have to face it one day." He shrugs, and, looking back up, she's annoyed to find him grinning.

They've got to be back at work -- Selina's office, for now -- soon, guns blazing, ready to go, all prepped for their strategy meeting with Selina.

Granted, Dan is only there as a consultant but he's _him_ so of course he's going to be having more of an opinion than anybody else in the room. Because he's loud and an asshole and he likes his _genius_ ideas to be heard. (It wasn't genius when he suggested they forego the condom.)

 _Selina 4.0, anybody?_ She can only imagine.

"How the fuck does Richard know, by the way? What, did you have book your next checkup or so something?"

She lifts her gaze then, eyes him with a heavy breath, "I don't fucking know. He's weird with that kind of shit."

"I'm surprised Kent hasn't figured it out yet, being a fuckin' doula and all." Dan lifts a brow pointedly. "He'd probably start polling voters."

"Targeting working single mothers?" She laughs, eyes a slice of carrot in his dish, picks it up with her fork, "The numbers are through the roof." She holds up a hand, rubs two fingers together, "Staggering."

Dan smirks, leans back over to look directly at her, brown eyes clear, "This was unforeseeable. This I did not see."

"Astonishing, really. If my face could show emotion, this would be astonishment." Her face is as blank, expressionless as it could possibly be, and Dan chuckles. "The voters are loving this pregnancy."

"This foetus is working wonders for you, ma'am. Miracles, really." He waves both hands about, watches as she crinkles her nose, "Add this to Tibet, and Montez will be out of office in no time."

"Imagine Ben's face."

"He'll drop that big fat fucking mug."

"Spill his cocaine juice all over Selina's carpet."

"Probably have another heart attack."

"Won't die, though, much to his disappointment." Dan adds, pulling his wallet from his pocket, picks up the bill. "Jesus, he's gonna outlive us all."

"Maybe I should get some of whatever the fuck he's been drinking all these years." She brushes hair behind her ear, looks down with a furrowed brows, "Maybe the little fucker will grow quicker and my body will be free of him."

"Him?"

"I don't know." She looks up at Dan with a frown, "Doesn't matter."

He licks his lips, stands with both hands on his hips, waiting for her to finish the green tea she's taking the smallest possible sips of. "Jesus, Amy."

"Hold the fuck on." She finishes the drink, stands with one hand on the table, pulling her coat off the back of her chair. He doesn't help her, and she's grateful.

_Be yourself, doucheface. Don't try all that chivalrous shit, it doesn't suit you. Nobody would buy into that._

He does hold the door open for her, but that's not a first. She's always been quite proud of the fact that she's the only person he's done _little things_ for over the years, seemingly without trying or forcing himself to.

When she's left the restaurant a couple of steps before him, he's already catching up to her, right beside her, hand on her elbow. Oh, not _that_.

"I guess that means my balls are in your court now, Brookheimer."

"So you're just a ball-less egomaniacal prick?" She frowns, somehow manages to lift one brow and curl her lip but keep a careless expression, "Lucky me."

"Oh, don't act so disappointed, Ames." He (barely) nudges her side (gently), feels the sharpness of her shoulder dig into him when she pushes back (a little), "You know you love it."

"False." Amy corrects him, "I loved it _once_ , when I was drunk and your mediocre dick was just competent enough to get the job done."

"Okay, first of all, you loved it _twice_ , at least." He smirks, leans closer with a lowered voice, lets her back away because they've stopped and they're waiting for the light to turn green.

"Secondly, I don't think getting you to come twice, _at least_ , is me just 'getting the job done'." He air-quotes the last bit, winks and keeps his face near, draws back when they can finally cross the road.

"I was drunk." She's too busy looking at her phone to give him her full attention.

"So was I. Doesn't mean we have to lie about enjoying it."

"Fine. But me enjoying _that_ doesn't mean I'm gonna enjoy carrying your spawn around for three quarters of a year." She mumbles, "And anything was better than having to dirty-talk Buddy."

Dan only shrugs, ignores that last bit because _fuck that guy_ , "You'll do great."

Selina's office is right around the corner, hence why their pace increases. She's simultaneously enjoying this conversation yet eager to finish it.

Why couldn't someone (anyone?) have joined them for lunch? Oh, right. Because they all ate earlier, while they both otherwise preoccupied. _Those fuckers_.

The way up to the offices isn't too long, and Amy's grateful that her office is lower down than the guys' own consultation firm.

Her heels are small, but she can already tell this pregnancy is going to -- despite how badly she's going to fight it -- take its toll on her, and hiking around town and travelling is gonna be a royal bitch, so at least her own office isn't at the top of a fucking skyscraper.

The elevator is slow, though, and Amy definitely misses Mike now. He's her work buddy, her elevator companion. And that's _weird_.

"We need to tell her."

There he goes, getting serious again. Amy wants to straddle him, strangle him. Either? Or? Both at once? One then the other? Maybe.

She'll straddle him, and strangle him when he's on the brink of release because he's a dick and his dick doesn't take that much work to get going.

"When I'm ready."

"I get that, okay?" He's looking down at her, dickface in full swing, looking like his motherfucking usual self, "But it's also my ki-"

"Don't even fucking finish that sentence." She warns, turning to face him, looking up at his face, "Seriously."

"What, are you gonna fucking cut my dick off? A little late for that, Ames." He boasts, whipping his neck back around as the doors slide open. "Besides, you're gonna need it."

"I'm gonna need _what_? Your thin fucking veiny dick?" She wants to laugh, "Oh, go on, tell me why."

"It's a thing, okay?" Dan huffs, steps out of the elevator, hands in his coat pockets, tilts his head to the side as his voice lowers and she steps into line beside him. "Expectant mothers develop a serious sexual fuckin' appetite. It's not my fault you're gonna be begging for it, on your knees and shit."

"On my knees?" She finds that part a little hard to believe, a little too hopeful on his end. _That's some serious wishful thinking, Danny._

"Yeah." He's half a mind to tell her that she's gonna be _such_ a horny bitch, but he refrains (much to his own ennui), "Much to my contentment."

Amy pulls a face, "Well, technically, that _would_ be your fault, you fucking cancer." She grunts, undoes the first couple buttons of her coat as they near the meeting room, "Wait- did you fucking read up on this?"

His shoulders rise and lower so quickly that she almost misses it, "It's not like I bought a fuckin' book, that shit's all over the internet. D'you know how many forums there are of pregnant women complaining about sore tits and stuff? Fuck!"

"Trust you to only pay attention to anything that involves sex, or anything for your own personal gain."

"It's for your gain, too." He reasons, "I'm not the one who's gonna be knocking on your door in the middle in the night because I need a good fuck."

She rolls her eyes, pushes on the door to the office, slips her coat off and places it over the back of a chair. "You're gonna be so good at this, you know that?"

God, she wants to strangle him. _So_ bad.

"Yeah, well, you're not gonna find anybody else to fuck you now, babe."

"So you'd pity-fuck me?"

He's copying her move, tossing his coat over a seat, and then he's leaning over the table, watching her rearrange some folders. "Don't call it a pity-fuck, Ames. It'd be more of a stress relief kind of thing."

"No, us having sex in the first place was stress relief. My job was in goddamn purgatory and you got fired, and that _fucking_ data breach got brought up again."

He grins, gives her that look she half-dreads, half-adores (unfortunately, _sadly_ ), "You know we'd both enjoy it. Again."

"Dan, please. You would screw anything that had two working legs and a receptive vagina, so that's not as much of a privilege as you're making it sound."

"Consider it an offering then. It's not like there's anything in it for me to gain." He suggests, " _That_ is a privilege."

"You get to have sex."

"Yeah, but there's no, like, job opportunity gonna come out of it because there's nothing you could give me that I don't already have." He (almost) wants to retract that last part, but instead he offers, "Besides, It's good. And you know it's good."

"Woah, might want to watch yourself there, Dan," she feigns fanning herself with one hand, "or you'll get me pregnant again." Her monotone voice teases him, blue eyes ice cold and lips drawing into the smallest of grins, but the gag ends when the office door has swung open and Selina is stood in the doorway.

Glasses pushed up her nose, she licks her lips and clicks her tongue, staring back and forth between them. Of fucking course, Gary is at her heels, halfway through peeling an orange, beaming like an utter lunatic.

"Ma'am-" Dan tries, turning to face her once he's registered the look of sheer surprise on Amy's face and he's _felt_ her presence. His eyes widen, and he holds up both hands, more boy than man, "It's not-"

"You get her knocked up?"

Selina quips, tone condescending, stares him up and down as though she's scanning him with her eyes.

And then she shoots Amy a look, scrunches up her face with a tilt of her head in Dan's direction, brown hair barely moving an inch, "Really? This _shit_?" She throws back.

The blonde's body has frozen and she can only nod, "Yes," she breathes, "Yes."

"Well," Selina is walking between them then, slamming her file down on the varnished table, eyes focused on Amy's forehead.

"Looks like we've got ourselves a campaign baby, folks."

 _Shit_.


	3. Satisfaction

Selina's eyes are boring into him.

"There I was, when Catherine told me you were _mostly_ sterile, thinking the world would be free of pint-sized Dan Egan-looking fuckers." She holds up one hand, near pinches two fingers together to make her point.

"With all due respect ma'am, it's really none of your fucking business."

Fire him? She might. The threatening look - she tries, bless her- she shoots him has him thinking she's at least considering it.

_No respect intended._

"That's where you're wrong," she approaches, bracelets jangling against her watch as she slides a hand over the back of a chair, "because, while you're not my employee, you _fucked_ my employee, and now you've fucked us _all_."

Both hands fly up then, and her head shakes, and Dan is seriously considering walking out of this goddamn office.

He's a grown adult - Amy, too - and they really don't need to be on the receiving end of a lecture (as though they're teenagers, as though they're incapable of recognising their own mistakes). A lecture by someone who has never exactly been Mom of the Year.

If they want to do this, if they're going to do this (or at the very least even _try_ to do it), then Selina's going to have to mind her own damn business-

"When the press gets wind of this because, you know, they _will_ , it's gonna be your mess to clean up, Danny."

"I'm more than aware."

"And, well, we're obviously going to be working this into the campaign, right?"

There it is. That _golden_ fucking opportunity.

"Ma'am?" Amy voices, quieter than her usual, sounding uncertain as though she's ignorant to the machinations of Selina Meyer, as though Dan hadn't already warned her that her batshit boss would do this.

_Come the fuck on, Amy._

"Don't give me that school girl caught with her panties down look, Ame." Selina warns, finally slides into her seat at the head of the table, taps polished fingernails against her wood, "You're campaign manager. Work it out."

_With all due respect, ma'am, you're a cunt._

_No respect intended._

"As an advisor, ma'am, I strongly suggest we find another way of going-"

Amy's staring at him, all wide-eyed and tense and shit, and he almost wants to smile, because she just _knows_.

In truth, he's on board with this whole scheme because he can see its advantages, because he's weighed up the pros and the cons, and the pros won out.

"I strongly suggest you keep your mouth shut and your dick in your pants from here on fucking out, Dan."

"Were we having a meeting or an interrogation? Jesus."

Ben is in the doorway, oversized mug in hand, Kent at his heels. The older men in the room take seats across from each other, beside Amy and Dan alike.

"You call the firing squad yet or are you gonna be doing the honours yourself, ma'am?" Ben is joking, but no one laughs because no one knows whether they should or not, because no one wants to publicly find humour in this situation.

Dan _really_ wants to say something, to add something to that, but he refrains (because Amy is still sending him some seriously fucking demonic shade).

Leaning back, Kent nods once, twice, and then he clears his throat.

"I see."

"What?" Ben scowls, flicks open the lid of his mug.

"It seems as though we've added a new member to the Meyer 4.0 team."

At that, Ben turns to face the rest of the team, all frown and confusion.

"Anybody understand what the human computer is trying to say?"

Dan stills, Amy sighs, Gary grins, and Selina fumes.

"Dan here," she gestures, "is going to be given some new responsibilities starting today." She wags a finger over for Gary, at the man is by her side within seconds, "Gar, can you fetch me some of that lemon tea? And an Advil?"

"Sure thing, ma'am."

He hurries away, practically skips like a little girl who's accomplishing a task for her mommy.

"Amy, are we letting this become public knowledge or are we announcing it?"

"It's a little early for... that."

Dan holds up on finger, slides an elbow over the conference table, "If I may, I suggest we hold off on any announcement until it's closer to the twelfth week-"

"Yeah, she basically just fucking said that, you ripped condom."

"Hold the fuck on!" Ben finally exclaims, stupid mouth gaping wide, seemingly disbelieving. "Are you fucking pregnant?"

She's like a surrogate daughter for him (in a weird way), Dan thinks to himself, watching as the older man's face turns from shock to dread.

_Congrats, Cafferty. You've got yourself a fucked-up surrogate grandchild._

"Sadly, for everyone." Amy confirms, pushing some blonde hair behind her right ear, "Mostly just for me." She mumbles, and Dan rolls his eyes.

"Jesus, fuck. I'm surprised you haven't been downing whole bottles of toilet cleaner if Dan's the father."

It's _almost_ a joke, but nobody laughs.

_Shut the ever loving fuck up, Ben._

"You and me, both."

Dan sighs, fed up with the little comments, "Fuck you." They _both_ did this.

"You fuck you."

"You did. That's what got us here."

"What got us here is your overeager dick-"

"I recommend you refrain from conversing like this in front of the growing embryo, or foetus - I don't know how far along you are - from now on."

The grey-haired man is holding up his index finger, on eyebrow raised pointedly, too. "Studies show the repercussions could be extremely negative in the child's later life."

"Oh, fuck off, Kent."

"Yeah, Kent, shut up." Selina buts in, changes the subject as though she was never the instigator in the first place, "We need to talk caucus people, people! We can hold off on these talks for a couple more weeks. Right, Amy?"

Does Selina actually care? Is she actually giving a shit about Amy?

Amy looks up, blue eyes wide, lips pink but dry, "Yes, ma'am." Her shoulders are stiff, her collarbones clearly uncomfortably raised, curved. "Dan can announce it then."

"Plenty of time for that then." Selina shoots the younger man a look, "You, screw your head back on now. You can go back to daydreaming about your mini-me later."

Yeah, because _that_ 's what he was doing.

Because he wasn't already thinking of creative ways to announce this or anything. Definitely not.

* * *

Two weeks have gone by when Amy finally finds him of her own volition, answer in hand and pride in tact.

He's actually surprised she hasn't sought him out sooner, hasn't tried to talk to him about anything other than work or Selina or Leon trying to hit on her.

At one time, they used to talk about anything and everything (just not, you know, _relationship_ shit), when it was all about Selina's campaign, when it was Selina's presidency, when they were still stuck at the crossroads between friends and enemies, and exes and lovers.

"Is there a reason you're in my apartment?"

He tosses his keys down on the table, slides his coat straight from his arms and hangs it up as the question lingers in the air, unanswered.

She's sat in his kitchen, looking a little more at home, at ease then he'd like.

"Is there a reason you were here before I was?"

"Well, you left a key spare under the mat, so that's either an invitation to walk right in and rob you blind, or it's there for one of those many, _many_ little cling-ons to find so they can sneak into your apartment and blow you in the middle of the night."

"Amy," he greets. He's in the kitchen now, watching her dig into a bowl full of pretzels, the empty bag on the counter beside her, the cupboard door hanging open. _When the fuck did he buy those?_

"You almost sound jealous."

"Please, I've known you for like ten years. You think I don't know you invite overeager dipshits over to come and fuck you because they think _they_ 'll be getting something out of it?"

"I think that _you_ think that. And, no, nobody comes _here_." Dan nods, steals a pretzel and holds it between clenched teeth, "Still haven't answered my question, Ames."

"Which one?" She lifts a brow, pulls the bowl closer, watches as he crumbles up the bag and throws it in the trash. "Oh." She smiles, faintly, but it's fake all the same, "I made a decision."

"On how to kill Selina and frame Gary? Yeah, believe me, I've thought of that, too." He jokes, takes a seat opposite from her after pulling a beer from the fridge. She looks serious though, so he squints, "Do tell."

"I'm not marrying you." She tells him, carefully avoiding his gaze, fully aware he's probably glaring down at her. "But I'll let you... in."

"In?" Brows knit, lips curl, "Into you?"

_Of course._

"Fuck off." Amy frowns, shakes her head softly, blonde hair sweeping past her shoulders. "This was your idea, you know."

He's twirling his beer bottle in one hand, running his thumb over the cool rim of the top, and she isn't sure he's even taken so much as one swig yet, "My proposal was-"

"Your proposal was fucking shit, but the proposal - the idea - in itself was actually quite genius." She rolls her eyes at his grin, at the mention of the word 'genius', "I mean, it could do with some serious work but-"

"But you wanna date me?"

_Fuck him._

Amy swallows, drops her eyes to his mouth rather than his eyes because it's easier for her to focus, "No." She shrugs, grabs a handful of the snack without looking, "This isn't dating. This is just convenience. You wouldn't know how to date someone if you were given a fucking handbook and tools, Dan."

"I beg to fuckin' differ, alright?" He holds up one hand, finally has a sip of his drink, and then he's staring down at her, "You just never had the full experience."

"Oh, please." Amy laughs, snorts, "The full experience? What, do we go on long walks on the beach, do I get candlelit dinners and picnics in the park? Jesus Christ, your head is so far up your own bleached asshole."

She brushes him off, stands to stretch out her legs. She's been here for about three quarters of an hour now, waiting for him to get back from wherever the fuck he was, from whoever the fuck he'd been doing.

So, she'd made herself somewhat comfortable - much as was humanly possible in his goddamn _man cave_ of an apartment - with some food and her phone on an almost full battery.

"First of all, I fuckin' hate the beach, so that's never happening. You can't even fuck on a beach without sand getting everywhere and I'm honestly just not up for that. Been there, got the rash, all right? Secondly, Ames," his bony shoulders raise, his elbows drop against the countertop, and she hates how fucking endlessly lean he is, "do you actually _want_ me to take you on a date? Because it sure fuckin' sounds like it."

He's smirking, that _fucker_. And she hates him.

"You can have all the entrées you want, I'll drink the booze you're not allowed, _of course_." He's watching as she rounds his kitchen counter, phone sat abandoned, pretzels in her hand, because he can, because she's in _his_ home.

"Is that supposed to sound inviting?"

Dan shrugs, boyishly.

"We can talk about work, you tell me all about what's got you so fuckin' stressed out this time, we come back to my place, we fuck-"

"Are you even capable of dating someone without fucking them on the first date?"

"Took two dates with you last time, if I remember correctly." He teases, "Usually, just one's enough to do the trick."

"You're such a slut."

"Unapologetically. And this slut wants to bring you to-"

"I thought you didn't bring women back here."

"Well, this is different."

"Because you've already fucked me... _over_?" She looks down at her stomach, swallows, feels a small smile dance on her lips (it isn't sweet), "Damn, Dan, and here I was thinking I was special." She feigns a sulk, bats long lashes up at him, lips puckered.

"Well, you said you wouldn't marry me, but you never said no to moving in together."

"Wow, that was quick. Not even screwing me on the semi-regular but we're living together already?" She blinks, pops in another salted pretzel, draws her hand back when he goes to snatch one, "I'm not living here."

"Fine. I'll find us somewhere new."

"Somewhere you haven't fucked half the straight women of New York, you mean."

"Half? Underestimating me, I see." Dan boasts, brows raising up and down twice, shit-eating grin plastered across his face - because of course - and he grabs her wrist, turns it over, "Somewhere I haven't fucked _you_ yet, sure."

"You're not gonna be fucking me, either." Amy declares, eyes wide and certain.

"We'll see." He pries open her palm, looking down to watch as white knuckles turn pink, and then he steals a pretzel, "You'll change your mind soon enough."

"You're so fucking sure of yourself, aren't you?" She licks her lips, sucks at the bottom one, stares up at him, "And why am I gonna change my mind? Because you're just _oh, so_ irresistible?" She snorts, pulls that face where he knows she's half fucking with him, half buying into it herself.

Dan sighs, moving to grab ahold of his beer, and he swings it around in her face, watches as she shifts back slightly with a scowl, "Isn't it obvious?"

He stands to copy her then, only he's taller, but Amy refuses to pull her shoulders in, refuses to back down and resign.

"You think you can live with me and not wanna fuck? You think you can live with any guy who knocks you up and not wanna fuck? It's biology, sweetheart."

"Here I was thinking it was chemistry." She purses her lips, "It wasn't any guy that knocked me up though, was it? That was just you and your retarded sperm." Amy reasons, "Maybe I _would_ fuck any other guy but you're not him."

"Would you fuck Buddy?" He's staring, intently. It makes her uncomfortable as all hell, and he loves it. "Assuming he could even get you off in the first place," Dan trails off, eyes darting up to the ceiling as though he's pondering something.

"Did you just, like, lie back and think of C-Span or what?"

Her face is flushed, redder than it had been a moment ago. He's hit a nerve. Great. Good.

"Jesus, what was it with that guy, Amy? He have like a cock made of broken glass or what? Or was it some new necrophilia roleplay thing where you're the corpse and rigor mortis has already set in?"

"He was _nice_."

"Nice?"

"Yes, nice. I don't know if you're ever cracked open a dictionary, but generally it means that someone isn't a complete fucking twat."

"You don't like _nice_."

"Yeah, well, I thought I _might_."

"That why you came back to me?"

"I didn't come back to you." She walks around him, heads toward the short hallway but stops mid-way and spins on her short heels, finds him directly behind her.

_How the fuck is he so stealthy?_

"You came to me." He shrugs, tells her, approaches but does not touch her.

She doesn't like people touching her, even in the slightest, lightest of ways. And he's not a complete asshat. He can still invade her space, though. He can still get too close. "You came _for_ me."

"You're gonna keep bringing that up, aren't you?"

"Well, I mean, it's not like I need to." He gestures down, and Amy really fucking wants to slap him across the face. "I just kinda like the reminder that I clearly have more of an effect on you than any other guy you dated."

_We barely ever dated, asshole._

"Dan, the only effect you have on me is that I want to down a bottle of bleach every time you open your fucking mouth."

He pauses, seems to gulp, and she doesn't know why. But then she gets it.

"I'm not going to... obviously." She raises her left brow, "God forbid I rip the cord that ties you to me forever."

"You wouldn't want to be rid of me."

"I'd _like_ to be. I just know it won't happen. _You_ wouldn't know what to do if I did."

Something seems to click then, and she's suddenly looking up at him with wide eyes and the faintest traces of a smile etching on her face,

"Holy- Is that why you're doing _this_? Christ, Dan, I know you're fucked in the head, but is that _why_ you want me to have this kid? You're so fucking possessive."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"What's wrong is that I'm not, and this... child," she gulps, "is not something for you to have. It's creepy."

"Possessiveness isn't creepiness, honey. Think of it as flattery."

"Until flattery turns into obsession, and obsession makes people violent." Amy folds her arms over her chest. "And you're already a borderline sociopath."

Her blues eyes darken and she grins up at him, watches amusement turn to annoyance, "Fuck, do you want me to pack up my job so we can move to a trailer park and you can keep me cooped up forever? You'll look mighty sexy in a string vest, I've gotta say."

She crinkles her nose, takes one closer to him, bridges the gap, "A bit lanky, but I'm sure by the time I pop out the seventh kid you'll have put on some daddy weight."

"That would require you to do some actual fuckin' cooking, Amy?" He tells her, brow raised sharply, his face the picture of _smug_.

"Would you hit me if I didn't have dinner ready by seven? Or would you just buy the kids a McDonalds and hope that does the trick?"

"Oh, so, I'm working? I'm not a complete deadbeat?"

"Part-time, CVS." She holds her breath, and he kind of wants to pull her hair, "Meanwhile, I stay home and fuck the guy that lives in the renovated shabby chic trailer next door."

"Do I know you're fucking him?"

"I tell you one day to piss you off, and you throw me up against the wall and grab me by the neck."

"And I fuck you?"

"No." Amy shrugs, lowers her gaze, "You eat me out but don't let me finish because you're a possessive asshole and you think I'm gonna keep begging for more."

Dan smirks, settles his beer down on the side, "Sounds about right. But, you know, if we lived in the suburbs we wouldn't have that problem."

"You're right. I could just fuck the mailman every other day and you'd never have to find out."

"I somehow don't see you faring too well out there with the Stepford Wives of New Jersey, Ames."

"I could eat those bitches alive and you know it."

He does, "You're not gonna pull a Gone Girl on my ass? You're already halfway to batshit."

"And you have the face of someone capable of killing their spouse."

"I don't kill you, though. I just wait for your crazy ass to come home and screw me over again, like the cunt you know you are."

"Wouldn't that make me the cunt you married?"

"Only if you married me."

"Only if you ask me nicely, like a good little boy."

"Fuck you."

"You would like to."

She's turned this whole thing around, flipped the fucking table on him, and now she's stood on top of it, tapping her heels like some spoiled little brat.

_That bitch._

Fine. He'll _jump_. He'll bite. He'll _play_.

"Yeah. I want to fuck you."

"Order me dinner first."

"Fine. What do you want?"

"Thai."

"The place on the corner's shut. You'll have to settle for Chinese."

"Fine." She frowns, spins around on her heels, heads for his bathroom, "I'm going for a shower. There better not be any dirty underwear in there."

"Only yours, Ames."

Amy flips him off then, one hand behind her back, the other messing with the zipper of her skirt, "Fuck yo-"

"Yeah, you're gonna."

* * *

"What, you didn't bring a change of clothes?"

She's in the doorway to his living room, a pair of flannel shorts on her hips (which he's fine with), and an old white t-shirt with some French crap written on the front covering her chest (he minds this).

"I'm sorry, no. I didn't pack a fucking overnight bag."

"You could've at least asked."

Amy smirks, slips one leg over the edge of his sofa to sit her ass down on the arm, "Do you have some weird thing about people wearing your clothes or what?"

He's petty, and metrosexual, and polished, and dramatic as fuck.

"No."

"Then stop staring at me like that." She nods once to catch his attention, moves her arms back to pull her hair up in a ponytail. "Did you order?"

"Yeah, it'll be here any minute."

Dan's still staring at her, unmoving, blank expression. If only his face could properly convey emotion, he'd be a little easier to read. He looks... unsettled?

"Are you having a stroke?" There's glee in her voice, and Dan truly despises her.

"Shut the fuck up." He's running a hand over his face then, and he clears his throat, "Can you sit on the cushion, please?"

Amy holds up her hands, slipping down from the arm of the sofa onto the seat, curling her legs up beneath her.

The pre-campaign campaign has been going well, so far, and she hasn't given anybody any reason to suspect anything. Dan figures this is why she seems relatively chipper. Or at least less pent-up than usual.

"You know, we have five minutes..."

"You know, I don't give a shit." Amy shrugs, sniffles with a crinkle of her nose, draws her brows together, "What's _that_?"

There's a little dark book buried beneath some magazines and folders on his coffee tables, and she reaches forward to grab it before he can stop her.

_Oh._

Amy grins, "How many people have you fucked?"

"Does it matter?"

"Just wanna know so I can tell the kid what slut level its father has reached."

"Well, you found the log."

Jesus _fucking_ Christ. "Log? You're such a pig." She looks up at him again, palm flat across the cover of the notebook. He's closer, nearer than he had been a moment ago. His shirt's been swapped out for a t-shirt, and his jeans have lost their belt.

"It's not even the right colour, you moron."

The little navy coloured book resting in her lap flies open then, Amy's fingers wrapped over the cover.

"Am I in it?"

"See for yourself."

"This is some next level Dangerous Liaisons kind of shit, Dan. Seriously, you need therapy."

She flicks through the book quickly, not really paying much mind to anything written on the pages. There are names - so many names - and what looks to be beginning and end dates below each name.

How gross.

"Didn't wanna go back for seconds." Ah, the dates.

What she doesn't understand is the colour code.

The majority of the women's names are written in black ink, but she notices how there are a few - so few really - written in red.

"I take it the poor women who got the red ink treatment were your intended murder victims? You know, until they realised you were human garbage?"

Dan rolls his eyes, snatches the book from her hands before she can check it out any more. He tosses it down on the sofa, lets it slip beneath a cushion.

"Actually, no. Those were the ones I considered longterm candidates."

 _Longterm_?

She finds _that_ extremely hard to believe. And just overall fucking ridiculous.

In what world would Dan Egan ever have considered settling down and actually getting serious with a woman? It's a laughable thought, really.

The buzzer goes off then, and Dan is hurrying to the door to let the delivery guy in. An opportunity Amy does not miss, picking the little navy blue book back up, scanning through the pages until she reaches pages dating years back.

There's someone called Amanda at the top of the page, and she apparently only lasted a few days. Below her is Amy, and the two week mark. The two weeks she'd spent with Dan Egan, thinking he could be anything other than a fucking walking trash can.

Only the other girl got the black ink treatment, and Amy's name is written in red.

 _Shit_.

She'd be almost flattered if it weren't for the score he'd given her. Eight out of ten.

"I take it you found your page?"

"Why am I an eight?"

"It's not that you're an eight. You're a solid nine and half now, a definite ten back then."

"Did you actually... rank my sex skills?"

"Possibly." He's placing cartons of Chinese food on the coffee table, brushing documents and a pocket-size thesaurus to the side. "You could've done worse, Ames."

"Oh." Her throat has gone dry (that _fucker!_ ), and she almost feels sick at the thought of him actually taking the time to score her. "Well, I'm glad my fucking you are above average, I guess."

"Technically, you were a six, but then you did that thing-"

"I know what thing I did- I do."

He's smirking, and she's half tempted to pour that cartoon of wonton soup over his head, down his _precious_ clothes.

"Did you..." She begins to flick through the pages again until he pulls it from her hands, and holds it behind his back. _Fine, asshole._ "Did you update it?"

_A few months ago. When you knocked me up._

"Eat, and then I'll let you read the whole thing."

"I'm not a turkey, Dan. I don't need stuffing." As soon as she words fly from her mouth, she realises her mistake, "Don't."

He only chuckles, moves past her, shins to her knees, to sit down on the couch beside her. She tightens her frame, haunches shoulders as he stuffs the book down the side of the cushion. _Fuck_.

There's a cartoon in her lap then, and she wonders how he knew just what she wanted.

Maybe she doesn't have to wonder, though. Maybe she should realise that, by now, he just knows her.

They eat in silence, save for the news playing on the television that they only half pay attention to because it's mostly about the latest economic fuckup and (honestly) it's nothing of real interest (pun intended), and the sound of Dan slurping the remnants of whatever the fuck he ordered.

Thirty minutes later, she curled into herself, legs pulled up, eyes drawn to the clock on his wall.

And then she realises that they never actually got around to having sex.

"You tired?" Dan is at the opposite end of the sofa, only he's reaching forward for the remote, clicking buttons until the television turns off. Then he's standing, offering her his hand, and she's never been so confused.

"Weren't you expecting something?"

"Much to my own surprise, I'm really worn out, so..." He shrugs, frowns, "Why, did _you_ wanna?"

"Yes, Dan, I want you to false asleep while we're mid-fuck." Amy quips, rolls her eyes

"Well, I can drink some coffee or something if you really want-"

"Nope. No, I'm fine."

She really isn't. She really wants to be, but alas, her hormones aren't very sympathetic.

"Amy," he pauses, retrieves her hand from her lap and tugs, pulls her upward when she refuses to cooperate, other hand wrapping around her elbow, cradling, fingertips brushing along the short sleeve of his t-shirt.

"Take your shirt off."

"Right now?"

"Right now."

"Right here?"

"Yeah." Dan replies quickly, nods once, twice, " _right_ here."

He's not a fucking beast, but he's a goddamn animal when he wants to be. And she recognises that this is mostly her own fault because her face was basically just screaming _horny woman!_ and (unfortunately? fortunately?) he's not entirely ignorant to her needs.

"What if I say no?" Amy bounces up on her heels, tries to keep her focus on the collar of his t-shirt. It's clean, neat, and yet she's being pulled in by the scruff along his jaw.

 _Goddamn_ _it_. Her hormones aren't supposed to be betraying her already, aren't supposed to be making her crave someone, something to scratch an irritable itch.

"Then you can fuck yourself on my couch."

God, he's _easy_. Amy grins, chews at the insides of her cheeks, eyes downcast to his crotch. Sucker.

"As if you'd have any complaints."

"Not gonna lie, I definitely have more energy to watch you get yourself off than to do it myself." He tells her pointedly, much to her disappointment because she could really do with _something_ \- "But I'll do it."

"So it's a pity fuck?"

Dan pulls a face, as though she's speaking a foreign language he doesn't understand, "It's an 'it's my fault you want my dick' fuck."

"Charming." Her brows raise and lower, and Amy folds her arms over her chest when he lets go of her elbow, "So you don't want me to blow you?"

She kind of wants the whole package, kind of wants to seal the deal.

Warts and all. The whole shebang. The whole nine yards.

Because she kind of wants to, kind of _really_ wants to.

Dan's face nears her own, alcohol-fuelled breath beside her ear but she can smell it, smell _him_ , dancing along the skin of her neck, "No. We fuck, and you get to scratch that itch you like to pretend doesn't exist. Or, well, _I_ get to scratch it."

_How did he know-?_

"And I know just how badly you need it scratching."

She hasn't noticed that he's been walking her backwards towards his bedroom - or rather, she's been pretending not to notice. "You think you know. God forbid someone doesn't want to have sex with you."

"God forbid." Dan echoes, takes a step back, much to her surprise, "I'm offering you a free dicking here, Ames."

"Wow, I'm so hot for you right now." She deadpans, "Can I not trade you for a free car or something?"

"No," Dan only smirks, tongue in his cheek, and he's staring at something over her shoulder, "You can ride me though."

That _fucker_.

_Walked right into that one._

"You've got exactly five seconds to decide." He's heading for the kitchen, for the coffee pot to switch it on, and Amy lets out a lengthy sigh that sounds more like a drawn out moan.

"Fine."

She's following after him then, watching as he pours half-boiled black coffee into a mug.

He stirs it with a clean spoon from off of the drainer, tosses the teaspoon in the sink and downs the drink swiftly, eyes closed.

Dan downs it like a shot, like an espresso, then he's placing the mug down on the side, tilting his head from side to side until his neck cracks, his muscles worn. "Okay." He bounces up on his heels (once), smacks his hands together (twice), and then his eyes fly wide open.

"What the fuck was in that coffee, crack?"

"It was probably eighty percent granules, twenty percent water, to be honest." He shrugs, moves back over to her side with such an ease. "Shirt, off." He points to her ( _his_ ) t-shirt and then flings his hand over his shoulder, thumb extended. "Now."

"You could help."

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, you're not that far along." Dan groans, not missing a beat before his hands are at the bottom of the shirt, pulling it up to expose her breasts. "Shit. I forgot they were gonna grow."

"I'm not _that_ far along." Amy glares up at him, skimming her hands over his own to drag the t-shirt over her head, the action loosening her long ponytail. "And you won't be touching this body when I start showing... Unless you want your hands chopping off."

"Another threat to add to the ever-expanding list." Dan pulls at the zipper of his jeans, pops open the button. "I love it when you talk dirty."

His jeans slip down his legs then, and he's reaching for her shorts before she can even look down, fingers hooking over the waistband. He smoothes them around to her ass, barely even touches her flesh before the shorts are skimming down her legs, and he waits for her to kick them off before proceeding.

It was easier where she'd been wearing that polka-dot dress with the buttons. So much easier.

"I'm not gonna dirty-talk _you_."

"Shit, is that what you did with the human beanstalk?" He'd find it amusing if it wasn't for the look of sheer frustration on her face right now. Well, it's still quite amusing. "Geez, relax. I don't need you to coax me into it."

When he's slipped his shirt - the one _he_ 'd been wearing - over his head, Amy doesn't waste a minute before she's placing a hand on his chest and pushing him backwards.

"I knew you were horny, but at least give my dick a second to wake up." She scratches him - whether it's intentional or not, he has no way of knowing because her face gives nothing away.

"Your dick is always awake; that's your problem." Amy says, blowing a fallen strand of blonde hair from her face just as his backside hits the edge of the sink. She stands in front of him then, looking down at his crotch as though his cock is just going to twitch and come alive.

"You gotta give me something here, Ames."

"I'm not blowing you."

"Wasn't suggesting that." He smirks anyway, and then curls a hand around her waist before she can stop him, before she can question him. His palm runs from the curve of her waist to her hip, and he squeezes, urges, and she knows what he wants.

Amy scowls, goes to swat his hands away, except he's stronger and she doesn't even really try in the first place, "No." She'd be lying if she said she didn't want to. She really wants to, she really needs _something_.

"Just do it." Dan orders her, shoving her back this time, only lifting his hand from her hip when she hits the countertop. "It'll only take a second. I only need a peek."

"Oh, for fuck-" she cuts herself off with a shake of the head, ennui clear as day on her face.

Reaching behind her, Amy bends her arms and places her palms flat against the top of the sturdy unit, but her biceps do nothing to help her, so she has to wait for Dan to lift her up - he does it so easily, that motherfucker! - and drop her backside down on the counter, as though she's weightless, only one small person.

He's still touching her though, and she'd push him away if it wasn't for the fact that she wanted him to just keep _touching_ her.

"I thought you said you didn't need coaxing into this." Amy states smugly, brows raised when Dan slips his briefs down his legs to his knees.

"I don't need talking into fucking you, I meant." He corrects her, squints like a cocky bastard. "What I do need is for you to cooperate. You're not exactly making this fun, Amy."

"Like that matters." She sighs, "You'd fuck anything that moved." Amy mumbles, drops her hands down onto his shoulders when he nears her, digs her nails into the top of his back when he grabs her buttocks and pulls her over the edge of the counter.

"You're not anything."

"Is that supposed to make me wet?"

"No," he smiles like the fucking Cheshire Cat, and he winks, and she's so fucking tempted to kick him in the skull when he starts pulling her panties down, tossing them aside as they slip from her ankles. "Looks like you did that all by yourself."

Amy glares over at him from bent elbows, her arms already weakening, "It's the hormones."

"Sure it is."

That _prick_. Fuck him.

 _Gladly_.

"Is your dick hard yet or are you just gonna keep salivating like a perv?"

Dan moves his right hand to her side, damn near crushes her ribs. His eyes are cast down though, and he's grinning, "Seems to me like you're enjoying this more than I am."

His left hand rests on her thigh then, fingertips dancing along the inside, "Yeah, I'm really loving being spread open on your kitchen counter like a fucking hooker you're about to slice in two. Hurry the fuck up."

"There's that dirty talk."

He grabs his dick, perches over her with a pause, runs the tip along her folds slowly, excruciatingly, his left thumb circling her clit, taunting her sensitive skin.

"Jesus, fuck."

"What?"

Amy lifts her butt cheeks, feels her body clench tighter on itself when he drags her closer, lets his cock slip past her entrance, rougher than she'd like, gentler than she'd expected.

"Fuckin' hell, you're wetter than a pornstar after a gangbang."

"Shut up." Amy lets her arms slip, and she rests her head back against the 'top, eyes closing as her body moves in sync with his own.

Her breasts bounce, time up perfectly with his every thrust, and there's a heaviness in her chest she isn't sure she likes. There's one hand on her thigh, and one on her hip, and she's sure her face is flushed crimson by now.

He goes faster, gets rougher with every other move, and she can't help herself but reach out for him, grabbing his neck, tense, and tracing the top of his spine with the pads of her fingertips.

Dan is sharp, Dan is lean, Dan is guarded, and Amy knows she is the only one who can leave a mark, scar, ruin his perfectly crafted character, persona.

She could destroy him if she _really_ wanted to.

He's messing with her, playing with her, and _touching_ her and she doesn't like it. She kind of loves it, and almost definitely hates herself for it.

She'd utter his name, say something ( _anything_ ) if it weren't for the hand on her throat, smoothed over her body from her hip to her breast to her neck. He doesn't grab her, just lets his palm hover around the base of her throat.

She can feel him though, feel his warmth every time he thrusts forward and she shifts backward. She can feel him when his dick buries itself inside her and she tightens around him as though he's her lifeline, as though he's her saviour.

He's nothing of the sort though, and she knows it. But that just makes everything worse.

"Close?" He's pulled her up by the neck, hand circled around her to thread his fingers through her hair, through loose locks, "Amy?"

He's breathless, and she's not sure she's ever heard him so _quiet_. Any quieter and he'd be whispering.

And if he did that, whispered something soft in her ear as she came around him, surrendered another piece of herself to him, handed herself over willingly to his touch, she may never come back from the brink of destruction.

He could destroy her, and she knows it.

"Harder... _please_." Because she's close ( _oh_ , so close), and grasping, tugging at his tussled hair is only pushing her over the edge, and his hands on her face are only encouraging her, egging her on.

He pushes harder into her, drops his face down to her collarbone, lips lingering over but not kissing her skin, "Like _this_?" He grunts.

She sobs a reply that Dan barely catches, her voice hitched, and she can feel his lashes against the hot skin of her neck, feel the roughness of his jaw scratch at her chest. His hands cradle her face, her cheekbones, and it's only his hips that meet her own, only his hips that work her body.

Her legs wrap around his backside, heels digging in, ankles near crossing, and she can't help but moan aloud when he pushes, pounds, pulls her with him over the finish line.

The muscles of her neck tense, and she copies him then, lowering her head to his neck, tilts her face to rub against his flesh when he tugs and twists her hair, forcing her into him. It's softer than she'd like but rougher than she'd expected, and she likes it, loves it.

He's warm but cool, chilly where sweat drips down the side of his neck, and she notices the glistening of her own chest as her darkened eyes cast down, watching him slip in and out of her body a few times more.

"Jesus."

Amy nods once, twice, leans into him when he presses cold lips to her ear no matter how much she tries not to.

Her body takes over, and she runs a hand over his shoulder to his arm when he finishes, grunts something unclear into her neck. It tickles - the noise, the scruff - and she holds her breath as he pulls his face away from her body.

"I could get used to that."

 _That_ wasn't what she was expecting him to say.

"Yeah." Amy voices, almost mute, licking her lips after a second. "Maybe."

Maybe his plan wasn't so bad, after all. Maybe they could make this work, somehow. Maybe it _could_ work.

"Amy?" He's looking at her, with furrowed brows, with that smile she despises. But he's not pulling away, and he's not pulling out, and she has to catch her breath before she can meet his eye.

Because he looks spent, and charming, and almost like a lost puppy, but she knows better.

She knows who he is, knows he's gonna say something witty any minute now and ruin this.

"I have an appointment tomorrow."

Dan stills, and his right hand slips out of her hair, lowers to rest on the counter beside her naked thigh, "Do you want me to come with you?"

"You don't have to."

"Yeah, I do." She thinks he wants to _smile_ , wants to try and convey some kind of look of sincerity - because he looks pained and his lips are drawn thin, curving upward. "I said I was in."

The left corner of her mouth curls up at that, and Amy smirks, shifts her gaze from his eyes to his crotch, " _That_ , you are."

And then she laughs - _giggles_ , even - and Dan can't help an amused grin from brightening his face, brown eyes clear.

He kisses her then, lips to her jawline, eyes on her mouth, "Move in with me."

"Are you asking or ordering?"

"Which do you prefer?"

"Asking."

"I'm not asking." She feels his fingers on the low of her back, tapping and dancing along the tops of her buttocks, "You're gonna move in with me, or you're gonna marry me. Make your mind up, Brookheimer."

"Can we just fuck on the semi-regular?"

"We could fuck a whole lot more if we lived in the same fuckin' apartment."

He reasons, skims his hand over the top of her thigh to her lap, pushes her legs apart with the ball of his hand, slips his dick from between her legs and replaces it with his fingers, "And I could do this a whole lot more if you let me."

"You can't screw anyone else." She informs him, bends forward when he leans back, folds into him when he moves away, taunting her. "You can't even flirt with anyone else."

"You're asking for a lot there, Ames."

"You either do this properly," she pauses to hiccup, gasp when he slips a finger, two, past her folds, applies pressures to her centre, "or you don't do it at all."

"I'm in."

"Is that a yes?"

"I'll find us an apartment in the morning, _honey_."

He lowers himself then, moves from her chest to her lap, nudging her legs apart with his elbows, the roughness of his light beard scraping her inner thighs.

She'd smack him if he wasn't so close, if she wasn't so _close_ , "Thank you, _baby_." She knows he groans because the vibrations hit against her skin and his breath warms her soft flesh with a sting. "Dan."

"Amy," He trails off on the 'm', looks up at her from between her legs, face just as devilishly handsome as ever, just as charmingly demonic as always.

_Fuck him._


	4. Consultation

"Can you please get off your fucking phone?" Amy nudges his elbow, nods over to a poster glued on the wall opposite them, "Can't you read?"

Dan rolls his eyes, dodges her glare and continues to type away on his cell for a moment before he shuts it off and slips it into his coat pocket.

"There's like one poster in here, Amy." He grumbles, scratches at his chin, holds back a yawn, "It's not like I'm the only one doing it. It's New York for fuck's sake. Everyone is on their phone."

He shoots a look over to the blonde couple sat beside the reception desk, the guy on a call, the heavily pregnant girl quite clearly texting someone.

"I'm not."

"Remind me to get you a medal for that, by the way. This is probably the first time I've ever seen you holding something other than your phone."

There's a pamphlet in her hands, and she's been scanning it front-to-back for like twenty minutes now.

"It's informative. And I've told everyone I'm unavailable right now anyway, so..."

"Really? You told Selina you were _unavailable_?" Dan perks a brow, turns to look down at her, knee brushing against her leg and Amy flinches, shifts.

She pulls a face, "Surprisingly, she's not being as big of a cunt about this as you'd imagine. "Besides," she clears her throat, "it's you she hates."

"She doesn't hate me." He frowns, shakes his head in that cocky way she hates, "She needs me."

"She needs your mediocre bullshitting skills, not your actual bullshit." Amy shrugs, smiles softly, "And she blames _you_ for this."

Dan sighs, huffs, uncrosses his legs and leans forward in his (squeaky) seat, rests his elbows on his knees, "Whatever. She probably just wants you to be better at this than she was. Lord fuckin' knows Catherine wasn't exactly raised by sane parents."

Amy snorts, "You think _we're_ sane? Dan, we've had more breakdowns between the both of us than the whole patient list of a mental asylum. I'd be surprised if the kid didn't come out in a fucking straitjacket."

"Well, we can blame your dysfunctional family for those batshit genes, can't we, Ames?"

"Oh, fuck you. You think you're normal? I've seen you _eat_ coffee."

"It's not my fault Gary didn't fill up the machine-"

"Miss Brookheimer?"

"Yes."

She's picking up her bag before Dan can get another word in, but he stands to follow her anyway, stopping dead in his tracks when she does the same.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"In there." He points behind her, back toward the room her doctor just emerged from and disappeared to, and then he smirks. "Let's go."

"No, no. You're waiting here."

She wags her finger, glances around the waiting room, "I invited you out of courtesy, not so you could get all hysterical and start crying and shit. Because, let's be honest, we all know you will."

"Amy," Dan begins, steps closer, "I'm coming in there _with_ you, just as I did _in_ you last night."

Her face flushes and she's seriously considering slapping him in the face right in front of all of these people.

He grabs her elbows then, spins her around and walks her forward, carefully trailing at her heels.

"How are we feeling today?" Her doctor's chipper (more than Amy would like, mind you). She's about fifty, has long red hair pulled into a braid, glasses perched on the end of her nose. And she smiles, all white teeth and pink lips, and Amy loathes her.

"I'd rather die than be here." Amy mumbles, feigns the smallest of smiles. She thrusts her bag into Dan's chest, grits her teeth, "You can sit."

He places her bag down on the floor beside the chair - has to bite his tongue first, _of course_ \- and licks his lips, "I think I'll stand, thanks."

"Are you the husband?"

"Husband?" There's a snort - a choke, almost - and Amy is laughing then, "Husband, no. Fuck no." She can feel Dan's (annoyed) eyes on her, and it only amuses her more, "He's just the sperm donor."

"Can't say I've ever had a donor tag along to a scan, but, hey - who am I to judge? There's a first time for everything." She's smiling, all honest and true, and Dan just purses his lips, nods once or twice.

She's facing Amy now, holding up a tube of something in her gloved hand, "Okay. Are you settled?"

The blonde on the bed adjusts slightly, tensing her shoulders as she pulls on her blouse, draws it up from under her skirt until it gathers below her breasts so her stomach is bare.

"All right." The doctor - something Jones, maybe? - approaches then, "This might feel a little cool at first." She flicks her hand holding the tube then, squirting some clear liquid onto Amy's pale stomach.

She twitches, and Dan grins when she bites her bottom lip at the cold sensation.

There's a chair pulled around then, and the older woman sits down beside Amy's legs. She reaches over to one side, pulls the transducer out of its place and smoothes it over her patient's belly, in circles and stripes, creating a pattern.

"I see you have a full bladder."

"I was told it'd be clearer that way." Amy clears her throat, avoids Dan's curious stare as she moves one arm to rest behind her head, propping herself up.

Their doctor - Amy's doctor - nods, smiles ( _again!_ ), and she makes a strange noise as she continues to stare at the monitor.

"Yep." She's moving her head, craning her neck as though she's looking for something.

Dan only notices because he'd been watching Amy watch her, watching as her body stiffened at the woman's silence.

"What?"

He isn't panicking, and he isn't losing his cool - mainly because this isn't his area of expertise and really doesn't know shit when it comes to medical care or pregnancies or abnormalities, so he has next to no idea if something is even wrong or not.

But Amy seems concerned (well, only _slightly_ ), so he's concerned for her (well, a _little_ bit).

"Is there-"

"No. Sorry," She shoots Dan a blank look, then proceeds to talk to Amy, "Just took me a moment to find the little nugget."

_Little nugget? Really?_

Amy's eyes are wide, though less than they had been a second ago, and she crinkles her nose, "Is it... healthy?"

Despite himself, Dan finds his hand reaching for her side. Not for her hand, not for her arm. But he fingers the waistband of her skirt, taps one finger along her skin.

"Everything looks good. Hang on just a sec."

She swivels back around in her stool, clicks on some keys on the machine that make the monitor almost freeze-frame, and then she's looking over at them again, "And... there's your baby."

_Shit._

"Fuck."

"Agreed."

She holds one finger up to the screen, points at something that looks about the size of a whole fucking fig.

And then the doctor's standing up, brushing her hands down her white coat, "I'll give you a moment."

Dan waits until she's at least halfway out the door before he speaks, breaks the awkward silence, "You can see it, right?"

Amy nods, squints, "It's so fucking... tiny."

He shrugs at that, moves his eyes from her face to the screen again, "Takes after you, then."

"Oh, shut up. It's supposed to be that small."

"Not gonna lie, it does look like you just ingested a whole fruit."

Amy smirks, leans forward and drops her hands to her lap, carefully avoiding the goo on her stomach. "How the fuck am I gonna carry that thing around when it gets bigger?"

It's a little surreal, in all seriousness, Dan thinks. _He_ made that. They _made_ that. They made a _person_.

"Are you gonna start crying like a little bitch now?" She jokes, jabs a finger into his ribcage, and Dan rolls his eyes, swats her hand away.

"Fuck off. It's just... weird."

"Put yourself in my shoes. I'm gonna have to put up with two of you now." Amy says, raising her eyebrows, "I thought one of you was bad."

"Oh, please, you love me."

"Correction, I can stand you. Sometimes. On occasion." She swallows, shifts blue eyes from his own to his chin, "Can you bring her back in here so we can get the scan and leave?"

She's closed off suddenly, it seems, and Dan has half a mind to strap her to the bed and get her to talk to him. But he won't, because he has other plans.

"Yeah, you know what, that's a good idea. I think I'm losing testosterone just being in this fuckin' building."

* * *

The fucking scan picture doesn't fit in her purse so she has to rely on Dan to keep it safe in his wallet.

He's folded the screenshot in half, shoved it inside the right sleeve of his wallet, and forced that into his trousers' back pocket.

Thankfully, there'd been a bathroom in the clinic so she could empty her bladder before he'd practically dragged her out of the building - hand around her wrist (not too tightly, just comfortably so) - and headed off towards a book store down at the end of the street.

_It's almost like he'd planned ahead, the asshole._

"I don't have time to read you a bedtime story, Dan. I've got work to do."

She's shrugging him off when they're past the doorway, the smell of fresh books encasing them, "As do you, by the way. In case you've forgotten, we have a former President to elect as president."

"Look, I'm only doing this for your benefit," she's following him down aisles now, stopping at a section filled with childcare books and manuals.

"Really?" Amy groans, "I don't have time to read up on this kind of shit. That's what the internet was invented for. And phones. So that when I need information, I can just look it up, and I don't have to rely on 'Mary Sue's Tip for the Perky Pregnancy'."

She reads off the title, printed in big bold letters on a book behind Dan, and he shifts to pick it up and wave it in her face.

"You know what? Maybe Mary Sue could teach you some stuff." He places the book down in her hands, much to Amy's chagrin. And then another, and another.

It's like he already knew which books-

"Jesus fucking Christ, is this where you were last night?" Her face is the picture of utter disbelief, mixed in with some glee for good measure, "You're a fucking pussy, you know what?"

"What?"

" _What_? Ever since I fucking told you I was pregnant, you haven't stopped, not once. It's all 'Oh, Amy, read this forum' and 'Oh, Amy, be careful'."

She shakes her head, shoves the five books in her hands back over to him, forcing them into his chest. "I'm starting to think you're actually excited."

"You think I'd be acting like this if you were anybody else?"

"I don't know, Dan. I don't even know why you're acting like this with _me_. It's not like I'm going anywhere."

He groans, readjusts the books so they're all weighing in one arm, "Can't you just be fuckin' grateful and move on?"

"No." Amy folds her arms over her chest, blinks once, twice, "No, because you're being weird, and _nice_ , and _caring_ , and it's fucking scary."

He smirks then, shrugs his empty arm, "Maybe I'm just enjoying having some control over you."

"Is that what you think this is? I let you be involved and suddenly I need you to take care of me, to _watch_ me?" She fakes a shudder, starts to walk towards the exit. "You can't control me, you idiot."

"Maybe not. But it's not like you can get rid of me, Ames." He nods, pointedly, "It's not like you want to."

"I _want_ to."

"Fine, maybe you do. But the point is, is that now you can't. I'm here, and I'm gonna be there, and I'm gonna be everywhere from now on. I'm gonna be right beside you whether you still want me to be or not. I'm gonna be standing right here, with you, even if you tell me to leave. Because you asked. Because you _let_ me."

Amy only stares up at him, all tense and heavy breaths, "You're a fucking prick."

"Yeah, well, you're no picnic, sweetheart." He informs her, one corner of his mouth turning upward, "And you chose this prick."

"Believe me, I've never regretted anything more."

"More than agreeing to move in with me?"

She doesn't understand him. She doesn't understand _this_ him. And she doesn't think she wants to.

Original Dan was already complex enough.

_Asshole._

"Look, I'm gonna go pay, and then we can go. All right? Will you be happy then?" He's talking to her as though she's a child, and she _really_ fucking hates it.

"I don't think _you_ could ever make me happy."

"I don't think it's happiness you want, Amy. I think it's comfort."

He's brushed past her, making his way towards the cashiers.

"Oh, and you're gonna make me _comfortable_?"

The five - no, six - books slide across the counter and Dan is already pulling his card from his wallet, and Amy makes a note of avoiding looking at the picture hidden in a slot.

"I mean, it's not gonna be a bed of roses or anything, but at least we like each other. At least we fuck pretty well."

"So romantic." She keeps her arms crossed, closed off, "Honestly, you're such a fucking charmer."

"I'm sorry, Amy, I don't turn on the charm until the third month of dating. And we're no there yet."

"Trust me, it'll be a miracle if you even survive long enough to turn it on. You have no charm. You're just one of Satan's little helpers dressed in a nice suit, with mediocre looks."

The cashier has been watching them for a moment, amused, scanning the books as slowly as humanly possible, and Amy is peeved.

"Can you fucking hurry up? I'm gotta go home and slit my wrists."

"Funny." Dan glares, faking a smile over at the till girl. "My wife's a little on edge."

"Don't you fucking dare-"

"You'd think being married to me would be _comforting_ but, nope, she's still just a raging bitch."

"I swear to fuck-"

"A raging bitch with the sex drive of a retired pervert on viagra." He can feel Amy glaring, fuming beside him, and Dan smirks wider, winks at the cashier girl, "Honestly, it's just been fucking, and fucking, and I think she's a little dick-crazy at this point. I mean _fuck!_ " Dan exclaims, throwing up his hands, making a scene, watching as Amy squirms, "

The girl - no more than nineteen years old - just blinks, stares, and her cheeks flush as she chews at her bottom lip. "Okay."

"D'you know what I mean? Of course you do, you're fuckable." He shrugs (with no charm, no suave).

"Would you like to sign up for our new newsletter? It's, uh, aimed at expectant parents?"

"Yes!"

_Slap him! Pull his fucking hair out, right now!_

"No."

He proceeds to give the young woman his email adress, and his phone number even though she doesn't ask, and when his total is amounted, he pays in silence.

And, by the time they've left the store, by the time they're back in her apartment, Amy is _done._

She whacks his chest, beats fists against him, damn near tears his head from his shoulders. _< (If she wasn't so much shorter, she probably could have done it.)_

"Can you calm the fuck down?"

"Can you die?"

Dan chuckles, tosses the heavy bag on the floor behind the door, slipping his coat for his shoulders when she's finally stopped hitting him.

"Why are you here?"

"Because it's late as fuck and I'm exhausted? Because you have a bed, a pretty fucking comfortable one I imagine?"

"No. No, no, no. If you're sleeping here, you're sleeping in _here_." She points a finger down at the couch, "And I don't have any extra pillows so you're just gonna have to figure it out."

"Are you fuckin' serious?" He looks pissed, unimpressed as all hell, and Amy is fucking _glowing._

She walks away then, brushing past his shoulder, heading down the small corridor to her bedroom.

Once her door has slammed shut, she makes a point of opening it again just to say, "Goodnight, douchebag."

"Fuck you."

* * *

He doesn't sleep.

How the fuck is he supposed to get a good night's rest on her sofa when it's not even a fucking pullout?

And it seems she hasn't slept much either because, when he gets up at three in the morning to take a leak, her bedroom door is open and she's sat indian style on her bed, legs crossed, a book in her lap.

_When the hell had she come into the living room and snatched one of those?_

He goes for a piss first, carefully avoiding any floorboards that looks even remotely creaky. But then the water of the tap runs when he washes his hands, and on his walk back, she pulls him up.

"Did you know I have to gain weight?"

Dan leans in the doorway, one shoulder pressed into the wood, and he smiles (faintly), "Like that's ever been a problem."

"Fuck off, I'm being serious." She looks at him (briefly, _barely_ ), and then she's bag to reading, one hand running along her forehead. "There's so much shit I don't know."

He's really not in the mood for a heart-to-fucking-heart at three o'clock in the morning - or, well, _ever_ \- but she looks seriously unnerved and terrified, and he isn't sure he likes it, likes watching her in pain.

_Get a grip, Egan._

"Hey,"

He nears her then, walks closer until he's at the foot of her bed, and Dan reaches a hand out to grab her leg, wrapping his palm around her ankle, "You'll be fine." He squeezes, and Amy holds her breath for a moment, lifting her gaze to meet his own.

"Easy for you to say, you don't give a shit about anything."

"That's not true." He frowns - for some _strange_ reason - and he sits down beside her legs, hands still cradling her skin, still touching her smooth edges. "You know that's not true."

"No, I don't. You don't give a shit about your work, not really. You jump from one job to another and it barely even phases you. You're a fucking snake. You shed your skin like one, anyway. I'm not like that. I don't adjust... I _can't_ adjust to this."

"Ames, come on." He tries a smile (at least), but he's only half-sincere because he's sleep-deprived and also really fucking not in the mood for this kind of chitchat.

"And, let's be honest, you don't give a shit about your relationships either, I mean- Christ, do you even have friends or just people that you occasionally fuck or screw over?"

She sighs, heavily, and it's so un- _Amy_ that he hates the sound of her breath.

"Are you gonna give a crap about this kid?"

"Amy."

"Seriously." She nods, mostly to herself, and she plucks his hand off of her leg, holds his wrist between her fingers, "I'm not fucking around. Like, I get that you're gonna be a dick, and I get that you're all proud that your dick worked wonders, and I get that you think that you have some kind of weird ownership over me. I get it. I get that you're a asshole, and there's nothing I can do to change that."

She lets go of him, almost as though something, as though his touch, burns her skin, "I fucking hate it, and I fucking hate you most of the time, but what I don't _get_ is why you're acting like you give a shit?"

To his own surprise - or maybe it's intentional - he crawls over the bed, all long limbs and crinkled shirt, and he knits dark brows with a sigh, and she hates the sound because it's so unlike him.

"I'm not good at this kinda shit, Amy. You know that, probably better than anyone given no one else has ever stuck around long enough." He _almost_ sounds pained, pitiful , "I'm just- I don't like not having you around."

It's honest, and probably the truest thing he's ever said to her. But it's not news.

She already knows how much he likes, enjoys her company. She already knows he likes having her around to keep him busy, on his toes. She already knows that he enjoys messing with her, using her.

"That's not a reason."

"What the fuck do you want me to say? Fuck." Dan gulps, and she watches his throat, watches his façade crack, eyes wide.

He looks childlike, innocent, and it amuses her in some twisted way she isn't sure she likes, "I'm not this fuckin' guy, alright? But I'm trying."

"Why the fuck _are_ you trying?" Amy rasps, "I know you. I know _you_. I asked _you_ for help. I asked the Dan Egan who calls me an uptight bitch at least once a day to help me. I didn't ask for this... fucking... Ken doll?"

It's bad, and she knows it.

Amy closes her eyes, closes the book, "I want you to be an asshole, okay? I need you to be an asshole, because this is creeping me the fuck out. We're not playing house."

"I know."

"Look, we fucked, and now we're fucked. That's all this is. I don't want you to buy me dinners or show me off. I'm not a fucking prize. Take me off the fucking pregnancy pedestal. Stop giving a shit. We aren't _those_ people."

"I _do_ give a shit."

"Then give _less_ of a shit." Amy shrugs, watches as he rolls his eyes, bites his bottom lip. "It's not like I'm asking a lot of you."

_You have no idea._

He grabs her ankle again (in one hand), and rests his other hand on her knee, "Amy, I don't give a shit about you."

_I give two shits. I give five shits. I give many shits._

_Jesus fucking wept, I give all the shits._

"See?" She smirks, genuinely, and pats the hand on her knee, "There's my asshole." She tries to avoid letting her touch linger over his knuckles. But it's hard, and he catches her fingers in his grasp before she can pull her hand away.

"Does this mean I can sleep with other people now?"

"No."

"God, you're a bitch."

"Maybe try something other than 'bitch' now that I'm actually carrying your child?"

Dan's face lightens up then, and he runs his hand up from her knuckles to her forearm, "Like a pet name?"

"No."

"You mean you _don't_ want me to call you pumpkin?" He grins, and pearly whites and transparent charm, "Darling?"

"Fuck, no."

She goes to pull her hand away - because, _honestly_ , this is a whole lot more time than she's usually willing to spend letting somebody touch her.

But he doesn't let go, and she holds her breath until resignation sets it. When it does, she grabs the book on her legs and places it in his lap, randomly settling on a page to read. He lets her, doesn't oppose.

"Sweetie? Sweetheart? Sweet thing?"

_Please be joking._

"You could just call me by my name?"

"Brookheimer?" Dan grimaces, "Baby?"

"Seriously, I'm gonna puke on you if you don't shut your mouth in the next five seconds."

"How about I keep my mouth open, but I stop talking?"

He moves the baby book from his lap, watches as her eyes drift over the closed cover. "You can't be serious."

"You don't even have to do anything, just lie there." His hands fly around the air then, and he's pulling on her legs again, lying her down flat on her back against the mattress, her head propped up by her pillows, "And, you know, enjoy it."

"Can I fake it?" Amy squirms when he draws her t-shirt up her belly, scrunching the cloth up below her breasts, warm breath dancing along her stomach.

"No."

He shakes his head, and she can feel his hair against her abdomen, feel his nose brush against her clothed pelvis, his hands slipping below the waistline of her pyjama shorts.

"Hurry the fuck up then. I'm gonna fall asleep soon."

Dan laughs (short, cut off), and he wraps his hands around the curves of her waist instead of pulling her shorts down, "You fall asleep on me and I'll fucking kill you."

"Then you won't get your fucked-up little mini-me."

"True. Maybe I'll just torture you a little bit."

"Oh, and how exactly would you do that?"

"I have my ways."

Amy's eyes drift to a close when he starts kissing her stomach, from her chest to her navel, "Dan, you suck at foreplay. I doubt you could even get a horny nun wet."

"Don't underestimate me, Amy. You'll live to regret it."

She can feel his hand slip below the bottom of her shorts, pushing the crotch of her underwear aside to smooth his fingers along her slickness.

"Fine."

It would have been fine if her phone hadn't buzzed right at that moment, if Dan's hadn't done the same only seconds later.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

He's up before she can even collect herself, phone pressed to his ear, talking shit down his end. It's Ben, she figures, given Kent is calling her.

"What?"

She sounds aggravated, she knows, but honestly she has zero fucks left to give at this point. Just as she was getting into things-

"We're gonna need you to come down to the office... right now. Selina is... how do you say... having a meltdown the size of Washington? State, not capital."

Of _fucking_ course.

* * *

Amy doesn't think she's ever gone into work looking so... tired?

Fuck, she looks and feels like hell but it's not even four o'clock in the fucking morning so, _really_ , who gives a flying fuck?

And Selina is wearing silky pyjama pants, for fuck's sake.

"Ma'am?"

Her voice is low, and her phone is tight in her hand, Dan is right behind her (as per _fucking_ usual).

"Amy! Yes." Selina starts, walking over to the blonde, patting her on both shoulders, "I figured it out."

"You figured what out, ma'am?"

"The perfect campaign strategy."

_Sure you did._

She can practically hear Dan think as much.

"You're gonna marry Dan, and we're gonna get Wendy - Mike whatever's girlfriend - to write a nice little piece about the two of you, and how you're coping with this... situation. Okay?"

_Yeah, because Dan hasn't already thought of that or anything._

_Yeah, because Wendy would definitely write a little piece about two people working for the boss who fired her husband?_

_Sure._

"Ma'am, believe me I've already proposed-"

"Oh, mazel tov, then." Ben shrugs, half-assed and careless from his seat on the conference room sofa.

His feet are propped up and he's holding that giant mug as though it's his golden ticket to the chocolate factory.

"No." Amy trails off, disapproving frown evident on her face, "No. I'm not marrying him, and I'm not gonna do any fucking interviews. I'm sorry, but-"

"Amy, I have never doubted you." _Well, that's some serious bullshit_. "You have been my right hand woman since day fucking one and, right now, I need you to do this small," Selina pinches two fingers, " _small_ thing for me. Okay?"

_Sweet fuck, send help._

"People like pregnant people. It's not my fault you opted out of an abortion. Lord knows I would've fucking gotten rid of it because, let's be honest, your baby daddy's no picnic but, hey, this is where we're at."

She holds up both hands innocently, palms facing Amy, and then she's walking around the room, poking a finger at Kent's shoulder.

"Give her some stats or something."

He looks confused, or really rather just baffled, so Dan takes this moment to pipe up, rounding Amy's side and clearing his throat.

"We could say that we're engaged," he starts off, all cunning and smart, and Amy wants to strangle him and his fucking ideas, "right? We get a ring, we get a place, we get a... crib and shit?" He spins around to face the blonde woman then, brows raised, face proud. "Yeah?"

_That's already kind of our plan, genius. It's not like you weren't already scanning through apartments earlier._

She breathes out deeply, feels the bones of her neck creak, muscles tightening with discomfort, "We could, theoretically."

Selina seems intrigued, "And you'd be on board with this, Ame?"

"Can't be any worse than actually marrying him, ma'am." She mumbles through gritted teeth.

"Well, you've got a real fucking valid point there." She agrees, clicking her tongue, squinting her eyes in Leon's direction. "What do you think?"

_Where the fuck- Who told him?_

"I think if I wasn't involved in this shit show, I'd be trying to uncover the truth behind the whole thing."

_Definitely a creeper._

 

 

"That's a little dramatic, don't you think?" Dan pulls a face, "It's not like it's a fucking assassination plot or anything." He points out.

"Realistically, Dan, if word did get out that you were fake fucking then it would be an assassination, of character. Your candidate's."

Selina points a finger at him, stares at Amy with wide eyes, "He has a point."

She scratches the side of her face, sniffles.

"You fuckers better, I don't know, grope each other in public or some shit because I'm not having my campaign fall apart when people find out you're not really together."

_Well, it's not all fake... The fucking is real, at least._

"Ame? You're gonna have to let him fondle your tit over a candlelit dinner or something, okay?" Selina eyes her, "Blow him in the back of an Uber if you have to, I don't really care."

_This is just an abso-fucking-lute disaster._

"Sure thing, ma'am."

"You," she turns to face Dan, allows Amy the room to breathe and walk over to the water dispenser, "You need to buy a ring. Pronto, buddy."

"Yeah," Ben nods, head leaning over the arm of the sofa, eyes closed, "And Amy's a nice girl, so she needs a big rock." His adds in his casually monotone voice.

Dan rolls his eyes, stares off at a wall with a blank expression, "Right."

"Don't you sass me, Danny Boy."

"Jesus Christ, do you wanna just pick the fuckin' ring for me?"

"Boys!" Selina shouts, slamming her hands on the table, startling Gary (half-asleep, dreaming), "Can we not do this right now? I'd like to go home soon. Some of us are exhausted."

Amy coughs at that, at the sheer hypocrisy of Selina's comment.

"Well, some of us we're otherwise preoccupied, but, whatever." Dan retorts, pulling a pissed-off face, head tilting to the side. He regrets it as soon as Selina as focuses her attention on him.

"Really, Dan?" She glares over at him, raising a brow when he slips his hands in his pocket, walks closer to Amy, closer to the exit. "It's the middle of the goddamn night and you're worried about your fucking blue balls?"

_Don't._

"To be honest, it was more about giving than receiving."

_Please._

"Yeah, you know what? I figured you were a giver when Amy walked in here with her legs pressed so tightly together that it looked like she was trying to walk with something shoved up her snatch."

_Fuck._

"Go home. Fuck her. _Fix_ her." She waves a hand over at Amy, and the younger woman is seriously gonna burst any second. "Ame? If he doesn't get you to come, you tell me and I'll happily castrate him for you."

Amy only hums in reply, picks up her abandoned purse from the table, and turns to face Dan with a serious look. He seems to get the gist because he reaches for his coat and leads the way out of the office.

"She's insane."

"She knew you were all hot and bothered, at least."

"Is that really all you can think about?"

"You closing your legs so tight you'd practically be smothering my dick if it was up there?" Dan shrugs, presses the button to the elevator, "Not gonna lie, that's pretty fuckin' hot."

"I'm not doing that."

"We'll see."


	5. Progression

It's the third place they've checked out so far, it's been three weeks, and Amy just isn't _sold_.

The estate agent wandered off a short while ago, leaving them to discover the rest of the apartment by themselves. It's huge, and _way_ more than they need or want.

"I mean, you could tear out the bathroom and just-"

"I'm not tearing anything out, Amy. You either want it like this or you don't."

"Well, I don't _want_ it like this."

"Well, then, we won't _take_ it like this." Dan is grinning down at her, hands deep in his pocket, following in her every footstep, "Jesus, are you gonna be this indecisive with an epidural?"

"No. I'm having it. And if it doesn't work straight away, then I'll be having another one." She shuts the large cupboard door beside the main window, overlooking the city. "And I'll be full up on painkillers anyway."

"Guess I'll be making sure you don't OD in the fucking delivery room then."

_What?_

"Oh, hang on." Amy's spun around then, holding up a hand to his face, stopping him dead in his tracks. "You actually think I'm gonna let you be in there with me?"

Her blue eyes are wide, mouth gaping as though it's just _that_ surprising.

"Well, who the fuck else is gonna be there with you?" Dan frowns, scowls almost, "You don't have anyone else."

She would gasp if she were that way inclined. "I have my mom. I have Seli-"

"Don't fuckin' say Selina."

He shakes his head, wraps both hands over both of her shoulder, walks her forward until they finally make into the kitchen area. "Just 'cause she's treating you a little nicer than usual doesn't mean she's gonna be holding your hand or feeding you ice chips, Amy. Jesus, I can't believe you were stupid enough to even consider her an option."

"Oh, and you're gonna feed me ice chips, are you?" She shrugs his hands off, pulls her bag closer with one hand as the other skims along the kitchen worktop, "You gonna hold my hand, Danny?"

"I mean, probably. Like, if you need it." He lifts one shoulder, drops it just as quickly, and tilts his head to the side with a raise of his brows, "Then again, you'll probably just spread your legs and push the little fucker out in one go."

"Oh, fuck off. You think it's gonna be easy delivering Satan's offspring?" She runs a hand through her hair, and he feels the sudden desire to copy, to pull at her hair. "My mom will probably wanna be there, alright? You can just... wait _here_ or something."

Amy gestures around the apartment, walking over to the cabinets beside the window, inspecting them.

"What, you don't want me there at all?" He feels a grin rising, makes sure it's present when she turns to face him again, "What if I just stand at the foot of the bed, huh? I'll just watch?" He teases, leans both elbows on the island in the middle of the kitchen.

"Dream the fuck on, Dan. They have porn sites for that kinda thing. And I'm sure if you call Jonah, he'll let you borrow his subscription."

"How are we finding the place?"

The estate agent is back in the room then, one hand clutching her cell, the other on the carved doorframe, "It's nice, right?"

"It's, uh, quiet." Amy responds.

 _Quiet_. Code for _'where's the goddamn hustle and bustle?'_.

Fucking Amy and her need for noise and people in motion. Fucking Amy and her restless fucking mind. Fucking _Amy_.

"Right, yes." The older woman nods, smiles apologetically (kind of), "Well, I figured with a baby on the way, a little peace and quiet would be best-" She has her nose crinkled, looking like one of the Whos until Amy cuts her off.

"How do you know I'm keeping it?" She challenges her, and Dan can do nothing but roll his eyes.

Anybody assuming anything about her, about her choices, about her body, about her pregnancy? Anybody saying anything about her, about her choices, about her body, about her pregnancy?

Don't _fucking_ go there.

"I just assumed, a young couple-"

"Okay, first of all, we're not a _young_ couple. He's going grey, for fuck's sake." She points a finger over at Dan, sighs, "Secondly, and not that it's _any_ of your goddamn business, we're not a couple. Kind of never have been. Sadly never will be, won't ever be, because he's a fucking narcissist and I'm kind of _a little bit_ too complicated for him to actually want to pay me any attention."

"Amy-" He does that thing, where he glares down at her when she's being rude, being a little too forward. And she _hates_ it.

"But, yes, I am having this child, and we are gonna raise this child. But, no, I don't want in some apartment complex for the hearing impaired. I enjoy my job, and I'm good at it, and I've kind of mastered the art of getting to sleep surrounded by noise and a ruckus and half-decent politicians screaming down my earhole every two minutes. I _know_ that. I need _that_."

"I-" The agent licks her lips, blinks twice, three times for good measure, "I'm not sure-"

"What she means to say, is that we would like somewhere a little less... out of it, and a little more civilised." He winks, smiles, tries his best, and the woman can only nods in return, clap her book.

"Right." She flicks through her binder, takes a couple moments to settle on a new listing. During which time, the blonde in the room has already shot Dan no less than four scowls. "I've got just the place."

She starts heading out then, and Dan sighs.

"You know what?" He rests a hand on her arm when she approaches him, slamming the open cupboard door shut, "Why don't you head into the office? I can handle this."

"What, are you gonna fuck her into a discount?"

He can't tell if she's kidding or not.

"Nice to know how little you think of my taste in women but, no, I'm not."

_Yeah, your taste in women isn't anything special, Dan. Sizeable tits, shaved vag and a pretty mouth._

"Look, I know what you're after. Okay?" He shrugs, as though it's nothing, as though he can get the job done in no time, "And I know you'd rather be at work, shouting at interns."

Amy's pushing her bag further up her arm then, drawing her coat tighter around her frame.

"I'm gonna give you the benefit of the doubt because for some insane reason I feel like you won't fuck this up like you have ninety percent of the decisions you've made in your sorry life. Don't fuck this up."

She's pulling her phone from her bag then, sending out for an Uber.

"Wait-" He grabs her elbow, "Balcony or no balcony?"

"For _my_ bedroom? Obviously, yes."

"Okay."

"Okay."

-

He sends her a dozen texts throughout the rest of the day.

Amy still fails to understand how he could so willingly spend his day looking at apartments when he could have been, you know, actually working.

_'Wooden floors? - D.'_

"Really?" She groans aloud as she types, through gritted teeth, mouth dry. She hasn't had a sip to drink in over an hour, and she's seriously fucking gagging for a sugary soda.

"Can you get me a water... and a candy bar?" There's an intern walking past her desk just then, and she sends them running for the kitchen no sooner than she opens her mouths.

The guy is no more than twenty five, and he hands her a napkin and a blueberry muffin with her water.

_Well, that's a healthier alternative._

"Uh, thanks?"

"No problem." He moves his hands behind his back, bounces up on his heels, "My sister was the exact way when she was pregnant with my niece."

Amy's brows knit then, and she takes a small sip of the drink, "Is that supposed to be a thing? Like, if it's a girl then I'll be craving sweet stuff or something?"

"I don't know, maybe?" He shrugs, and she notes having never seen him before, "Could be a boy, though."

"Or I'm carrying a fucking androgynous baby." Amy mutters, letting her gaze shift down to her stomach for a moment.

Fourteen weeks, and _fucking bored of this shit_.

"Hey, Pee Wee Vermin, don't you have somewhere to be?"

The intern looks like he's damn near ready to shit himself, but he looks between them quickly before hurrying off.

_Of course. Dan, you dick._

"I thought you were still following that realtor around like a lapdog?"

Dan plops down into the chair in front of her desk when the newbie intern has walked off, and he picks off a piece of her untouched snack. "Nah, I was fuckin' with you. I found a place hours ago."

"Then where the fuck have you been this whole time?"

She pulls a face when he shoves the muffin towards her, nods down at it as some kind of commands, but she complies nonetheless. "Selina isn't paying your crazy money to just goof around all day."

"I wasn't goofing around, I was doing what she asked me to do. It just so happens that it doesn't have to do directly with the PCC."

_Of course. He'd fucking Jonah-ed 'pre-campaign campaign'._

"You'll be happy when I show you what I was up to."

"What?" She squints, swallows a piece of blueberry muffin.

"What?"

"What?"

"What?" He's smirking - that _idiot_ \- and she loathes him. "What, you think I'm just gonna tell you?"

"You said you were gonna stop being weird."

"I did stop. This is me being normal, Ames." He shrugs, stands up and plucks a folder from her desk. "Is she in her office?"

"Yeah," she nods, "But she's leaving soon. She promised Catherine they'd have dinner because she hasn't been around much since Richard was born. And it's already been pushed from six to nine, so..."

Dan chuckles, slaps a hand against the file twice, "Ah, Little Dick. That poor fucker never stood a chance."

Amy rolls her eyes, folding her arms over her chest as she leans back in her seat, "What do you need to see her for anyway?" She eyes him suspiciously, watches as he nears the door to Selina's office, raises a hand.

"None of your business."

"Everything is my business."

"Then I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

"You're not charming, you know."

"Oh, I'm fully aware." He smirks, "Still works on you though."

* * *

 

"It better fit."

"It will. It'll be fine."

"Sure," Selina gives in, "Sure. Just don't go thinking this is anything but an arrangement."

"I'm fully aware." Dan nods, left brow raised pointedly, confidently, "Amy's made it very clear."

He's a fuck, he's a shit.

He's _her_ shit.

"Let _me_ just explain it to you, in a way your jacked up pee brain might _actually_ understand."

Selina waves her hands around in circular motions, stops but two feet away from Dan's face, cranes her neck to look up at him with clenched fists.

"You took Amy's egg, and you dipped in your crumby little soldier, and, _now_ , you've got yourself a breakfast that nobody ordered, because it wasn't even on the menu in the motherfucking first place."

She grits her teeth so hard they almost look like fangs, and she swears so fast that Dan barely even hears the word escape past her lips.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Dan. She deserves a hell of a lot better than your pretentious ass."

"Did she tell you to say that?" He'd laugh if it wasn't so true.

She's on the brink of slapping him, so instead Selina takes a step back and breathes through her nose, mouth sealed closed for just a moment.

"No, Dan. She didn't _tell_ me that. You think I'm that blind I don't notice how fucking _alone_ she is?" She stares at him then, "Shit, if anyone here deserves to have a somewhat decent life, it's probably Amy. You know how her family is. All batshit crazy-in-love parents, crappy older sister who loathes her guts for no reason whatsoever. She grew up in the fucking suburbs, Dan, what do you want from her?"

"I don't know." He shrugs, because it's true, because it isn't.

"Well, you're gonna have to be a big boy and figure it the fuck out. I'm not having this shit fall apart, and the two of you be insufferable for the next couple years."

_Assuming you make it that far, ma'am._

"God fucking knows it took you years to finally bang it out. I don't wanna have to sit through that again."

"Bang what out?"

The inevitable.

"Don't fucking play coy, Dan. You know just as well as I do that the two of you had some serious fucking tension going on back then."

She rolls her eyes so far back, "Honestly, I'm surprised nobody found you fucking in a coat closet or something."

Clearing her throat, Selina looks back over at him, absentmindedly picking up a box from off of her desk. It's square, and yellow, and it has _Gary's doing_ written all over it.

"Welcome to adulthood, daddy." She feigns an honest smile, shoves the box into his hands before he can refuse it. "Don't you fucking open that in here though. Wait for Ame."

She's gathering her coat from her chair at that, pushing her arms through the sleeves, buttoning it up.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go have dinner with _my own_ child because she thinks I'm a shitty mother and your baby momma basically told me to shut up and suck it up, and I'm in no position to argue with her when she's all... hormonal."

She slips past him before Dan can realise he hasn't spoken for a solid minutes or so. And when she's gone, he just breathes - calmly, nervously.

God, this is gonna fucking kill him.

"What is that?"

He's back out of her office, gift in the crook of his arm. Dan glances down at the package, all wrapped and fancy and nice.

Amy's watching him, eyes flicking back and forth between the box and his face. "Dan?"

"Oh. I don't fuckin' know. She said it was for you to open." Dan shrugs, looks down at her finally, "You ready to go?"

"Yeah."

Her jacket is thrown over her arm, and she's turning off the lamp of her desk then, hair pushes behind her ears, face all tired and worn out and flushed.

"Are you gonna show me what you bought?"

"You really wanna see it now?" He pulls a face, "It's pretty late. Don't you wanna go home and sleep or whatever?"

"Stop being weird." She breezes past him, heading toward the elevator.

One hand held up, Dan grins, "Not being weird, just saying."

"Whatever."

* * *

 

"How did you even manage to get the keys already?"

He scratches at the slight scruff of his jawline, passes her the box of noodles he'd been holding, "They just wanted it gone. The sooner, the better."

"Oh, God, watch, I bet it's the scene of a crime or something. 'Husband kills two sons, rapes wife, commits suicide'."

"Fuckin' dark." He says, "Does it matter?"

"No." Amy shrugs, folds her legs up beneath her, "As long as I can sleep in it and I'm not gonna catch any kind of disease from touching the walls or some shit."

"And it's kind of noisy." He adds with a knowing smile, one brow raised proudly, "There's a couple musicians two doors down. And an elderly woman upstairs who plays her midnight soap reruns just a little bit too loud." Dan boasts.

"Amazing."

"Told you I could handle it."

"You're right, I'm sorry. You're a grown man who can successfully buy an apartment. Shame on me for doubting you."

"You had a lot of demands, you know."

"You expect me to believe you met every single one of my demands?" She air-quotes, stares over at him with a single noodle balancing on her chopsticks. "Please."

"Fine, don't believe me. You'll find out soon enough."

Amy rolls her eyes at that, scoops up some more food before she decides she's had enough, placing her half-empty box down on the floor.

They got takeout on the way over, decided it was best to just settle down on the hardwood floors than it would be to scatter food all over the kitchen worktops already.

When she goes to stand up, he's right there, kneeling with a hand on her elbow, and all she can do is glare at him (again).

"Dan."

"I'm not being _weird_ , alright? I'm just making sure you don't hurt yourself, fuck."

When she's stood, and he's let go of her arm, Amy lets out a deep sigh, eyes closing, "I'm not... You don't have to do that kind of thing yet." She informs him with a bat of her lashes, a crinkled nose.

"Fine." He nods, "Fine. Just tell me." He picks up his beer, pulls at his tie, "Tell me when I have to do anything."

"Anything?"

"Within reason."

"What's not reasonable?" She's pulling a water from the fridge, one of three they'd bought with dinner. She unscrews the cap, joins him once again, only she remains standing. "What is Dan Egan not willing to do?"

She sounds smug, and he kind of likes it when she gloats.

"I bet I could get him to do anything."

"Sure giving yourself a lot of credit there, Ames."

Amy huffs, moans out a little noise before she's tapping him on the shoulder, rounding the island again.

"Hey." She calls out to him, lifting up the yellow gift when he looks over at her. She moves it around, brings it with her when she comes to settle down - beside him, this time.

"It's kind of heavy."

"She probably bought you a gun to shoot me with. Wouldn't fuckin' put it past her."

"Yeah, because she chose this herself." She says, sarcastically.

He kind of wants to tell her that Selina cares, in some weird way. Maybe not enough to be there for her the way Amy hopes, maybe not that way. He kind of wants to tell her that he's pretty sure Selina will have him murdered if he so much as touches Amy some way she does not like.

"Obviously this is Gary's work." She reasons, tugging at the bow, at the finely curled green ribbon surrounding the box. "Nobody else would put this much effort in."

"True." Dan agrees, putting his drink to the side with a slight clink, the sound of hard glass on a polished wood.

It's comforting, homely.

When she's pulled the gift wrap from around the box, she tosses it aside, eager to lift the lid.

"It's a fucking-"

"Picture frame?"

Dan frowns, snatches the metal frame from her hands, "The fuck?"

"There's no receipt so we can't even exchange it, those fuckers."

Amy groans, placing the box aside with a thud, stretching her legs out in front of her. "Couldn't have been a fucking new coffee maker or something, no." She stresses, clearly ticked off.

"It's fine. We'll," Dan starts, shaking his head despite his vocal positivity, face expressionless (which is nothing new), "I don't know, just thank her tomorrow or something."

"You're gonna have to do it. I can't do that and keep a straight face." She tells him, repeatedly pokes a finger at his chest until he grabs her wrist in his hand, soft, twists her palm upward.

He speaks through his teeth, "I'll write her a fuckin' note." He quips, suggests as an alternative.

She shrugs, "She'll have forgotten by tomorrow anyway." Amy blinks, holds back a yawn. "Please tell me there's at least a mattress here..."

"Well, there's some fresh _sheets_." He tilts his head over to a stack of unopened bedding on the windowsill. "Didn't exactly have the energy to go fetch my mattress."

"I'm not sleeping on top of some sheets."

"Look, just, go wash or something. I'll figure it out."

She has no change of clothes, no toothbrush, and she'll still have to go back to her apartment in the morning to shower properly. But, sure, she'll get _washed_.

"What, are you gonna magically conjure up a fucking futon?'

"You underestimate me."

Amy whines, standing up to head down the corridor, "I think I _overestimate_ you sometimes."

When she reemerges fifteen minutes later, she's wearing her blouse and underwear, hair scraped back into a low ponytail, face rid of any makeup.

"Well, don't you look quaint." He sounds smug (because _of course_ ), and she's tempted to strangle him with his tie.

"Just show me where the fuck I'm sleeping, or I swear I'll head back to my apartment right now."

It's a dead threat, and Dan can only feign annoyance.

"Follow me."

He leads her down the hallway into the biggest bedroom - she's already studied the layout of the place (because _of_ _course_ ) - and gestures toward a makeshift bed.

"You're kidding me, right?"

It's quite literally one sheet spread out on the floor, and one sheet crumbled up on top of it.

"You said you were gonna figure it out."

"I did." He informs her, pops open the final two buttons of his shirt and slips it from his arms.

_What the fuck-_

He folds it up and places it down at the head of the 'bed', grins down at her as he unbuckles his belt.

Eyes closed, Amy sighs, wants to resist when he touches her elbows from behind, breathes down her neck.

"You can't be serious."

"Oh, believe me, I'm dead serious." He sits himself down on the floor - because, let's be honest, it's the fucking _floor_ and not a bed - waits for her to join him, arm extended.

"I'm calling an Uber."

"Amy," he starts, groans when she pulls her phone out of nowhere ( _how?_ ), "I'll be your pillow."

"Yeah, I'm good?" She grimaces, stares down at him in disbelief. "Dan, I know you. Even you can't be comfortable sleeping on the floor."

"I'm trying."

"I told you to stop trying."

"You told me to stop acting weird and creepy and... whatever. But I am _trying_."

_Trying to do anything, something. Trying to do anything you ask._

_'Make me a bed', the girl asks. The boy sighs, but he concedes all the same, 'Okay.'_

She has to give him some credit.

"Come on, it's late."

His hand is still held out, and she's pretty sure she prefers the Dan who would rather hail a cab at three in the morning than the one who would chose to sleep on a hard floor because he's trying to be... what, _sweet_? Nice?

"You can't be a pillow. There's nothing to you. You're built like a fucking breadstick. All air, no filling."

He laughs (slightly, a little), and tugs at her hand when she finally gives in, kneels down beside him.

Her phone is placed down beside his makeshift cushion, and she has to touch his face with her forearm to put it on silent.

"We've gotta be up in a couple hours anyway so it's fine. We'll just sleep it off tomorrow whenever Leon opens his fuckin' mouth."

"So, most of the day, then." She jokes back, rests on her right side, moving her arm in front of her, uneasily placing her left hand on his abdomen.

"Jesus Christ, will you just get comfortable? I'm not gonna fuckin' push you off of me or anything."

"Yeah, because you're such a cuddler." She frowns, "It's not like you're emotionally detached or anything."

She kicks him in the shin (intentionally or not, he isn't sure), elbows him in the ribs twice.

"Amy, I swear to fucking God, if you don't just lie down I'm gonna tie you down and sleep on top of _you_."

"Have fun tying me down with no bedposts, dumbass."

"Fuck you." He scowls, shifts so his back is curved and he's facing her more.

His eyes are closed though, and he doesn't notice her awkward, pained smile when he slips his arm beneath her own and pulls her into his side, forcing her head onto his chest. "Just pretend I'm someone you like."

"I don't like anyone."

"Then pretend I'm the person you hate the least."

"Fine."

"Good."

"Yeah."

"Night."

"Whatever."

She finally closes her eyes then, pretending he isn't so close, pretending he isn't letting her snuggle, pretending he isn't acting like someone completely different.

"Your breath stinks, by the way."

"Fuck you, Amy."

* * *

 

The alarm on her phone wakes them up at exactly eight o'clock, and they waste no time in sorting through their shit until they look somewhat presentable.

Namely because they have little time before they have to be at the office, mainly because both of their phones are blowing up with texts and notifications and Google fucking alerts featuring both of their names.

Amy suspects someone finally figured out who knocked her up. Dan suspects it's because of something incriminating Selina might've said and they're the ones who've got to clear up the mess.

When they arrive at work, having showered and changed and fucking _washed_ at her place, their suspicions are put to rest. And, as usual, Amy was right.

"We believe," Kent sighs, rounding the large bureau with a heavy breath, "it might've been one of the interns."

"What?"

Ben shakes his head quickly, holds up his fresh coffee, "Some moron with half a brain cell sold the story to some low rent online paper. Didn't even get a grand though, fucking amateur."

"An intern? Like, one of our interns?"

"Yes, Amy! Who the fuck else's intern could've caught wind of this?" Selina exclaims, quite clearly pissed.

"Ma'am, I screen them all myself. With Mike."

Shoulders raised, neck stiff. _Great_.

Her mouth is drawn wide, her eyes huge, "I don't understand how one of them could've-"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you and Dan were at your desk yesterday talking about your _fucking_ apartment. Maybe that's how people know you guys now own property."

Oh. _Oh_ , fuck.

"That fucking muffin-man."

"The what?"

"There was this one- He brought me a snack."

"A snack, Amy?" Selina squints, eyes the blonde like an eagle, "My golden fucking ticket leaked because you wanted a fucking snack?"

"To be fair, ma'am, it was going to get out either way. I'll just make a statement," he looks over at Amy, nods once to himself, "and we'll announce it publicly-"

"Uh, no, you fucking won't." The brunettes shakes her head as though it's _obvious_ , as though what he's saying is utter fucking nonsense.

"Leon will announce this. You two are gonna stay indoors. I'm not having people knock on my door because your stupid faces couldn't shut the fuck up for one more day."

The announcement had been imminent, seen as Amy was just safely past her twelfth week (much to Selina's pleasure),

 _With all due respect, it's none of your fucking business_ , Amy wants to shout so badly. _Stay the fuck out of my business._

She won't though, doesn't yet have the gall to go one-on-one with Selina Meyer once again.

"Leon?"

"I'm already working on it." He's on his laptop, legs crossed so professionally, glasses pushed up, face is deep concentration.

"See?" Selina points, " _He_ 's on top of things." She inhales a deep breath, throws her head back, "Dan, you're gonna give him a quote. That's it. I don't wanna hear one fucking squeak from you until I say so."

_It's none of your fucking business._

"Shouldn't I be saying or... doing something? This does concerns me, after all." Amy adds, reluctantly.

"Ame," Selina walks to her, rests a hand on her shoulder, "You fucked Dan. Living with that fact should be enough to deal with."

"Right." She swallows, draws her lips together, feels her throat tighten, "Do we know his name? The leaker?"

Gary places an iPad in her hands then, and she only frowns after him at the softness of his touch because his fingers lingered on her hands for a little longer than she cared for, "Thanks."

_'Broken Brookheimer No More: Turns Out a Paternity Test Wasn't Needed After All'_

The main article goes on to mention how they used to date (which Amy wants to laugh at, because that was _not_ dating), how they worked together for years (on and off, on different schemes), how the long distance thing last year must have finally made them realise the true extent of their feelings for one another.

It's complete _bullshit_. But something catches Amy's attention.

"No, but you can sure as shit bet we're gonna shoot him down if he ever steps foot in here again." Selina points out with a hand on her hip, giving Kent a look. "Tell her."

"The Twitter page for the paper is running a poll." He hands her a piece of paper, "These are the results from twenty minutes ago."

_'Should she have aborted? 48% yes. 27% no. 25% don't care.'_

"Well, this is comforting."

_Fucking bullshit._

"It's twisted, I'll admit. But this does mean you're gonna have to play along." Kent seems to squint with one eye, taking back the poll paper with one slow hand, "We need to win over these pro-choicers."

" _We_ are pro-choice."

"Yes, but we're also pro- _Selina_." Kent points out, and Selina nods eagerly, pointing an index finger up at her own face.

Un-fucking-believable.

"The, uh-" Amy begins, scratches her brow, phone still clutched tightly in the palm of her hand, "I think I know who sent him."

"If it was that fucking bamboo shoot-"

"It wasn't _that_ bamboo shoot," she corrects her, "It was Jonah." There's a vendetta behind that article.

"Makes sense, because I just got a text,"

Dan is at her side then, right on cue, phone in hand. He's staring down at the screen, clearly in a trance, jaw clenched, "that said _'Congratulations, Daddy. Let me know what to get you guys as a wedding gift. I'm thinking matching pyjamas? Laugh my ass off. Just kidding. PS: How was the muffin? Probably not as good as Amy's, right? Laugh my ass off. No, seriously, you're screwed'_."

Dan groans when he's finished reading, and he looks down at Amy with tired eyes before glancing back to Selina, "I can't believe I got that guy elected."

"We are going to _obliterate_ that fucking beanpole." Selina speaks clearly. She clicks her tongue, watches Amy carefully, "Ame?"

"Uh huh?"

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

_Dealt with worse. For you._

"Okay." She shoots Dan a look, waves a hand, "I guess we're a go, people. Get this baby moving, get it kicking. We need some foetal fucking action going on around here."

"Right."

"And what are we gonna do about Jonah?"

"You and Dan are gonna take him out to lunch. And you're gonna wear that ring he got you yesterday."

"What ring?"

_Shit._

"You didn't fucking tell her?" Selina asks, "Well, I'm not your goddamn mother. Sort yourself out, Dan!"

" _What_ ring?"

_Were they actually being serious when they had that discussion the other day?_

"I don't have it on me."

"Well, go and fucking _fetch_ it then."

"Amy?" He nods to the door, gestures for her to follow him.

_Fuck._

They're _in_ this now.


	6. Reaction

"If you don't like it, well... that's tough shit."

"Honest, at least." She raises her brows, eyes the ring skeptically.

It's a silver band, and it's simple enough. The diamond isn't huge, but it isn't exactly _discreet_ either. The diamond is square and, while she doesn't want to know how many carats it is, it's just so fucking _him_.

It's just what she's never wanted, mainly because she's never wanted a ring.

It's pretty, and it's nice, and it's small, and it's _practically fucking perfect in every way_.

(But if it's _perfect_ \- in her own words - then doesn't that make it perfect for her?)

He doesn't make a show of it, doesn't drop some grand proposal (she'd been half expecting it, in all seriousness, because he's fake when he wants to be).

He doesn't get down on one knee, and he doesn't hold the box open and wait for her to gasp.

He just gives her the little navy box (shut), and she's grateful.

She makes a necklace with the silver chain from an old pendant, slides the ring onto it before clasping it shut.

It hangs loosely around her neck, the silver band hanging just above her breasts.

"It's heavy as all fuck. What, you couldn't find a smaller rock to drill into?"

"No need to be ungrateful, Amy." He mumbles through gritted teeth, glancing down at her beside him. She just rolls her eyes, yawns when he mentions something about the cost.

They'd - no, she had - decided that it'd be better to wear it around her neck rather than on her finger.

He'd made a shitty joke about her having two engagements rings within a little over a year. She'd slapped him on the arm (hard, twice).

"Chill the fuck out. It's not like you're the one having to wear it."

"You didn't even try it."

"I didn't need to. You can have it back in a few months anyway." She informs him, scowl present, "Then you can pass it along the next floozy you fuck and fuck over."

"Oh, Amy, you're not a floozy." He quips, "Just a bit of a slut when I'm around."

_Yeah. Sure. Maybe that's because your fucking spastic sperm infected me._

"I need to pack later."

They can't move in to their apartment yet because they're heading to Iowa tomorrow to set up the new campaign offices. So, in the meantime, her place is a bit of a danger zone, and his house looks like the sight of a bomb explosion.

There are clothes everywhere, books and journals and papers and empty coffee mugs scattered over every table or any available flat surface.

"You know, we could just head to the airport together."

"Nope."

She picks up her keys, tries to ignore the fucking _diamond_ hanging around her neck like a tag, a stamp.

It's like he fucking owns her. That thought makes her sick. Fuck this plan.

"Fine." Dan slips on his coat, "You ready for brunch with Lurch?"

* * *

"If it isn't Frankenstein's monster himself."

There's an easily read expression etching itself onto Amy's face as the seconds go by, one that says: _'I would give my left tit to be anywhere else right now.'_

She sits down in the seat directly opposite Jonah, crosses her legs below the shabby little table he's chosen, folds her hands together above the sticky surface, sharp elbows pressing into the wood.

"Amy," He greets, and she's already annoyed, "Sperm Danny... I mean, _donor_."

_It's crap, lazy. Even by his standards._

"Jonad."

The old nickname comes back into play, Dan resting his coat over the back of his seat. He slides the chair out next to Amy, keeps some distance between them, between himself and the table as though he's gonna get up and walk away any minute (already).

The taller guy stabs his cheek with his tongue, lets a grin decorate his assface, "How's it going, guys?" He asks, "Amy, you feeling sick? I told the waitress to bring us a bucket incase you feel like you're gonna throw up all over the fucking table."

_Fuck._

"Believe me, if I was going to, I'd projectile in your face, Jonah." She closes her eyes for a brief moment, can already feel a sigh rising, "We're only here because Selina suggested it, alright?"

"You still taking orders from that batshit hag?" His brows raise and he looks gormless (because, _of course_ ).

The waitress appears at Dan's side of the table then, ratty little notebook in hand, apron on an angle because she was probably fucking the cook in the back alley during her fifteen minute break.

Trust Jonah to choose a shitty diner, just to fuck with them. At least there aren't any baskets full of bread rolls, Dan gazes of into the distance at the thought.

"Oh, they won't be eating." Jonah interrupts before she can take their order, looking down at his own plate; an omelette and two fried eggs on the side. _What the fuck-?_

Amy gives the woman a half-hearted glare then, and she seems to get the message because she hurries off, mumbling to herself under her breath.

"Look, we know it was you."

"Me? Me, what?" He holds up his hands, palms visible to the pair, "Oh, you mean me who planted a spy?"

"A spy? Jesus Christ, we're not in the fucking mob." Amy rolls her eyes, glancing down at her watch, "Let's just cut the crap-"

Dan interrupts then, sliding one hand over the table, tapping two fingers on a ring mark, "Selina wants you to shut the fuck up from now on."

"Why the hell would I do that?" He haunches his shoulders, "That bitch thinks she's gonna be president, she's not another thing coming. She made my life hell."

"You made your own life hell, Jonah." Amy clarifies, with one nod of the head, "By being born."

"Yeah, well... If she's my competition then I'm sure as shit gonna have to think two steps ahead of her. Aren't I, Amy?" He tests, "I know all your secrets. I worked with you guys for years."

"You worked for us, you tool. We were never equals."

Jonah points a finger, "Correction, Daniel. _You_ worked for _me_ back in New Hampshire-"

"Because I fucking told him to." Amy points out, breathing in heavily, feeling her face form a frown, "You think you could win an election without any of us? Please." She scoffs, pulling her phone from her purse, resigning from the discussion.

"Yeah, never mind the fuckin' presidency." Dan grins, watches Amy's phone screen for a second as she scrolls through her mail. This conversation's already dead. "You really think you can win?"

"Oh, I'm going to win." He tells them, like it's _fact_ , "And you're both gonna be sat at home with your fucking dog and your fucking baby in your matching bathrobes _watching_ me win." He stabs a finger against his own chest, ignores Dan's laugh, "Nice ring, Amy."

He's looking at the necklace around her neck, the silver band tucked safely in the cleavage, hidden behind the first button of her blouse.

"Get your fucking eyes off me." She warns, pulls her bag closer up her lap, turns her body sideways (slightly) until she's facing the entrance to the restaurant.

He leers, looks over her shoulder down her front, "Come on, show it to me."

"Seriously, man, fuck off."

"What, are you going to hit me, _Dan_?" He whines, challenges, "We're in a public space. You'd get thrown out of here in no time."

Dan smirks, clasps his hands together, leaning back into the wooden seat, "I would enjoy nothing more." He informs him with a shake of the head, eyes almost daring, corners of his mouth curled upward.

"You know what, I'm done here." Amy stands suddenly, looking back and forth between the two men, fastening the buttons of her coat, "I'm gonna trust that you can shut him the fuck up, permanently if necessary, because I have work to do." She looks at Dan, forcing him to break his stare-down. "And you?" She turns to Jonah, "Look at my tits one more time and I will _behead_ you with the fucking umbilical cord this little bastard is clinging onto."

"What, no goodbye kiss?" Jonah's smile only widens when she walks out the door, and he leans back in his seat, all long limbs and shit-eating grin, "Dan, already in the doghouse!"

"Just shut the fuck up." Dan groans, rolling his head back, eyes shut. "God, you know, if you were just a little less of a human error, you wouldn't be so aggravating. You're like a robot the developer never finished, trained to spew shit and verbally assault women."

"Says you? You knock Amy up and now you're gonna marry her?"

"What, you jealous you couldn't get in there?" He smirks, but it's masked and Jonah is too oblivious to read through it.

"God, Dan, it's the twenty-first century."

_What does that-?_

"We're not getting married, jack-hole."

A slip of the tongue, and he's just given away their game. _Already._ If word got out that they were faking before they even started-

Eyes wide, he gulps, wags a finger in Jonah's face, "You didn't fuckin' hear that."

"Oh, but I did." He's fucking _beaming_ , "Wait 'til the press gets wind of this, that you guys are fake-fucking for attention. Jesus, is it even your kid?"

Dan ignores that comment, licks his lips after a pause. _Fuck!_

"What's it gonna take for you to shut your mouth about this?"

"Well..."

* * *

"He wants access."

"Access to what?"

"Your schedule, meetings, etcetera, etcetera." Dan folds one leg over the other, pushes back against the cushions of Selina's cushions, "I told him I would."

"And I assume you're gonna lie?" Amy questions from her space across the room, one hand extended as Selina signs some papers.

Dan grins, proud, "Of course." He shrugs, "We'll change some dates, change some names. He wants to be two steps ahead so we'll just push him five steps back."

Selina nods, "I like it." She clicks her tongue, points at Amy, "And while we're at it, Ame, you're still heading down to Iowa tonight ahead of us, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What?" He perks up then, "Why are you-"

_We didn't talk about this._

"For fuck's sake, Dan, let her breathe."

Amy nods, glances from Selina to him and back again, "I've just gotta set up the office, make sure everything's up and ready for when the team arrives on Thursday." She smiles, brushes a strand of hair behind her ear with her hand clutching her phone.

Dan stands, takes two steps closer, "Well, then, I think I should be there."

"Uh, you're not fucking going anywhere. Yet." Selina frowns with a shake of her head, a wave of her hands, "I need you here." She points out.

Did she hire BKD as a consultancy firm, or did they take her on as a candidate? He gets confused sometimes, truthfully.

"You're my wise guy, my witty little writer." She offers, and then nods her head toward Amy, whose eyebrows rise up at the gesture, "It's Iowa, for Christ's sakes. Who lives there? Old white people and their three-legged pets? She'll be fine." Selina brushes it off, waving her hand dismissively.

"Yeah, Dan," Amy takes her cue to leave then, retrieving the signed file from her boss, brushing past the man on her way out of the office, cocky smile on her face, "I'll be fine. Chill." She lifts a brow, teases him.

"You see?" Selina tilts her head, waits until the door has slammed shut before continuing, "You need to calm the fuck down."

"I am calm." He argues, hands sliding into his trouser pockets, shoulders stiff, "She just didn't tell me she was leaving-"

"She doesn't need to tell you jackshit. She's a grown ass woman." Selina reminds him, eyeing him carefully, "You're not together. Hell, you're barely even _friends_. You just fucked one time and got stuck with the world's worst hangover." She shrugs, almost careless.

"Not one time, per se." Dan rubs at his face, scratches at his brow as he glances off.

Selina pulls a face, half-disgust, half-annoyance, "Whatever the fuck, I don't care." She purses her lips, "Go find Kent, he called looking for you earlier."

"He didn't fuckin' call me." Dan mutters, childlike.

* * *

 

"I'm just saying, we're probably gonna have to start-"

Ben groans, loud, "We're not fucking polling everything, Kent. Jesus, do you poll your sex life? Have mapped out your girlfriend's orgasm frequency on a fucking _graph?_ "

Dan would laugh if it wasn't within the realms the possibility, so he just grins, continues to sip on his coffee.

"We are at a crossroads here." Kent holds up his pen, "If we don't get her here," he points to a some pink coloured blob on his handmade map of the United States, "then we don't get her _here_." He circles D.C. then, scraping the lid of his marker along the whiteboard.

"She's going, it's in the books, it's on the cards." Ben points out, eyes wide, "Chill the fuck out."

_How in the ever loving name of the fuck did Dan manage to go into business with these two?_

"Hey, hot stuff."

He snaps back to reality then, blinking quickly to collect himself, "Yeah?"

"You with us? Or have we lost you already?" Ben leans up from his slouched position, stares Dan down, "Don't you dare fucking run off to the land of the fairies. We're not fucking changing the name of this place already."

"Nah, I'm good." He sighs, forces a deep breath, "Just tired."

"Amy keeping you up?"

"What? No." He answers, a little too quickly for even his own liking. "No."

Kent feels the need to interject then, finger scratching at his temple with squinting eyes, "I have no personal experience in this... field, but I think perhaps this fatigue you're experiencing is actually worry."

_What, because Amy is probably on a flight right about-_

"What?" The colour would drain from his face if he weren't so pale in the first place.

"Yeah, you know what? That makes sense." Ben nods, confirms, and Dan honestly can't tell if he's being fucked with. "I had the same thing happen to me-"

"You fuckin' hate your kids."

"This kinda shit still happens, you polished jizz-stick! It's a side-effect... or some shit." The older man clarifies, scrunching up his face, "Whether you like it or not, you're _feeling_ something."

"No. _No._ " He shakes his head, stands to stretch his legs and _stand_ his ground, "No. I do not have feelings. About anything." His pearly whites flash and his brows raise (high), "I'm fucking stone cold, alright?"

"Sure thing." Ben chuckles, disbelieving, "We'll see if you're still stone cold when she has that baby. Even I'm not that fucking dark."

* * *

She arrives at the hotel sometime past one o'clock, when the sky is still quite dark and people are no doubt still partying it up only blocks away.

The cab driver helps her with her bags, and she's checked in long before she'd expected to be. It's a small hotel, but it's still perfect for the team to stay while they work.

She inquires about room service, makes sure nobody can have food delivered to _someone else_ 's room. Thankfully, much to Dan's dismay (she's sure), they don't do that.

She asks about the conference room, and the lady at the reception desk gives her a brochure as though she's some kind of fucking tourist. The brochure is in the trashcan the minute she makes it back up to her room for a shower. She'd pulled her hair up, slipped on the first thing out of her case that wasn't a skirt or dress.

Phone in hand, she settles into bed with the good intention of getting at least eight hours of sleep. She _needs_ it, as of late.

But there are twelve text messages and three missed calls, and one missed FaceTime call.

_Fuck off, Dan._

Granted, five of the texts are from Gary. He asks for random shit, shit that only Selina could want. Amy's not sure why he would think she was the right person to ask about herbal teas.

_No, I don't know where the fucking sweeteners are, Gary._

And, granted, two of the missed calls are from Richard. She calls back, and he tells her that he must have butt-dialled her by mistake. She believes it, and hangs up on him when he starts talking about the latest addition to his jeans' collection.

The rest? The rest are Dan.

Dan and his never-fucking-ending need to be _there_.

"What?"

"Hello to you, too."

"I was with you all morning." She points out, brings her legs up, resting her chin on her right knee, "What do you want?"

"I just," he pauses, and she can hear him sigh. _Great._ "Are you wearing it?"

Amy grins, glancing down, "I might be."

Her hair is long enough that some strands slips free from her ponytail, and she has half a mind to hunt down a pair of scissors just to cut it herself. It sends shivers down her spine, and she trembles at the feather-like sensation crawling down her neck. _Fucking hormones_. Literally anything will set her off.

"Does it fit?"

She decides she likes fucking with him, "Like a glove." Her brows knit at his quiet, and she wants to clear her throat to break the silence. Did he seriously call to just check-

"Good." If he could see her, he'd complain about her frown, say her face will probably just stick like that one day. If he could see her, he would see her wearing it. "Take it off."

Her leg drops then, and she folds them beneath her, suddenly all ears, "What?"

"Take it off."

"Why the fuck would I do that?"

"Because I told you to."

"Well, I don't want to."

"Well, I bought it."

"So, what, you own _me_?" Amy sighs, half-tempted to hang up on him, too. "Fuck you, it's mine now."

She can tell he's only fucking with her by the tone of his voice, all whiny and boyish. Fuck, she can practically see the smirk on his face. "You know, if I was there, I could take it off you."

"As if I'd let you." She snorts, "Besides, you're not here so... Tough luck, asshole."

"Please."

He almost sounds desperate, drained, and she almost feels bad. So _what_ if he's tired, if he's stressed? She's the one carrying around an extra human being, for crying out loud.

"No."

"Amy."

She takes a sip of water from the glass beside the bed, puts the phone on speaker as she reaches for the hotel's alarm clock, configuring it. "Give me one good reason why I should."

Dan takes a moment to reply, and she can hear him rummaging through something, probably shoving his hand down his pants, possibly pulling another beer from the fridge. His voice is loud and clear after a second though, "Whatever. I'm gonna video-call you."

"What, so you can watch?" She grimaces, placing the clock back down with a thud. She draws her legs back up under her, stretches out her arms and neck above her head, eyes closed, "You're such a fucking perv." Despite herself, despite her better judgment, she _giggles_.

Fucking _hormones_.

She cranes her neck to the side (first left, then right), waits for it to click, drops her hands to her lap, toying with the hem of the shirt, running a finger over the bottom, daring herself to raise it. _God._

"Wait..." There's a pause on his end, a breath, "What?"

"What?" Her hand stills, midway up her thigh, fingers splayed.

" _What_?"

"What?"

_Oh._

"Dan?" She closes one eye, glancing up at the ceiling with parted lips, "What were _you_ talking about?"

He grunts something, and she can hear the rumble of his throat before he talks, "The... ring."

"Ah." Her mouth hangs open, and she is just _so fucking stupid_.

"Why?" He's gonna laugh, she can feel it. "What were you talking about, Amy?"

 _There_ it is.

That smug tone of voice that just lets her know how fucking amused he is right now, how fucking amusing he finds her.

"Nothing."

"Amy."

"Your shirt." She chews at her bottom lip, feels her nostrils flare as her eyes drift to a heavy close, "I kind of just... packed it and put it on, didn't even pay attention." _Shit_. Worst fucking mistake ever, "I thought you'd noticed it was gone or something. It's not my fault you leave your fucking clothes everywhere."

"Why do you have one of my shirts, Amy?"

He uses her name to taunt her, says it in a sing-song voice that she now fucking loathes. Yeah, she's gonna hang up on him any second now, she's decided. _Any_ second now...

"What were you... _doing_?" He sucks in his lower lip and she can hear it, hear the breathy little noise, "Jesus, did you think I was trying to get you to have phone sex? Fuck, even I'm a little classier than that, Ames."

He laughs - _laughs_ \- and she's honestly never felt so goddamn embarrassed. Not even when- And she'd fucking _giggled_.

_Fuck!_

"But, hey, listen, if you're down-"

"Shut the fuck up." Amy huffs, shoulders tensing as she eyes the duvet longingly, cold, "This never happened. I'm going to sleep now."

"Seriously?" He whines, "No, come on." Dan does _something_ and then his voice lowers, and she's fucking dreading seeing him tomorrow. "Come on, take your- Take _my_ top off."

He wants to laugh, she can _feel_ it. "You're an asshole."

"I'm just trying to get you off because apparently that's what you're after." Jesus, she can just picture him; on his couch, warm beer in one hand, limp dick is his other, shaped brows raised like a complete _prick_. "Amy."

And she has to live with this asshole now. _Christ!_

"What?" She snaps, and she only half meant to.

"You know you can hang up if you want to."

"I know." God, just... _Fuck him!_ She would - hang up, fuck him - because she wants to. She just doesn't want to (hang up) that much. "My battery's low."

"I can be quick."

"And you thought I was the horny one?" It's her turn to laugh (because fuck him), "Wow, Dan. How ever could I refuse such an offer?"

It's _amazing_ , honestly, how she so willingly, easily fell into a pattern with him, fell into a fucking routine.

_We'll just fuck on the semi regular, maybe._

"What, you mean you don't want a quick phone fuck?" The smirk is just so obvious, "It was your idea."

"I thought you were initiating it." She reasons, "I wasn't fucking suggesting it."

"Okay, well, I will forsake my standards and engage in phone sex with you, if that's what you'd like."

"That's surprisingly sweet."

"I know, it's this new thing I'm trying. Hasn't been working so far."

"It's probably your face. You just _look_ like someone who deserves a broken nose."

"That's surprisingly soft, coming from you."

"I know, it's this new thing I'm trying. It seems to be working." She smirks, lets the silence linger without it becoming awkward. She fucking _enjoys_ it, in her own way. "I'm only being nice because you're not here, you know."

"Same." He copies, agrees. "Back to our regular programming tomorrow then?"

"Obviously." She sighs, lowers her eyes until they rest on her stomach. Sometimes, she just forgets. Forgets how they came to be, forgets how they ended up this way. Sometimes, she just _forgets_. "I read an article earlier."

"About what?" Does he sound tired? Jesus, fuck, are they actually having one of those late-night phone calls she has been dreading having since she was in her late teens? Fuck that.

"It said your dick might shrink in size once the baby comes."

"Fuck off. No, it didn't." Dan snorts.

She lies back then, one hand on her pelvis, the other holding the phone up to her ear. "Imagine if it did though. You'd have no dick left."

"I thought you were trying to be nice."

"No, that's you." She reminds him, licks her lips, "I'm practicing to be soft, and... _motherly_." Fuck, she wants to vomit.

He groans, sounds resigned, "Fuck."

"Do you want me to hang up?"

"Well, if we're not gonna do it then I'm sure as shit not gonna keep you awake."

"We can't _do_ it, over the phone. It's like... you do you, I do me."

He laughs, but it's fine this time. She doesn't mind. "Yeah, thanks for the clarification, Amy. Because you're an expert or something."

"What, you think I'm a complete prude unless it involves you?" God, she wants to laugh _in his face_. "Your head's so far up your own."

"Well, I would happily have my head all up in your-"

"Okay."

"Yeah. Tomorrow?"

"No. No." She scowls, uselessly, "Okay, as in... OK. As in, I think we're done here. I have to get up early to head to the offices and Selina's got me running a bunch of errands."

"How the _fuck_ did we hitch our wagon to her star? It lost all glimmer like three fuckin' elections ago."

"She understands us. She's a mess, too. She's had more breakdowns than all of us combined."

"Well, to my count, I've only had one-"

"London?" She frowns, feels a smile dance along her lips, "Did I ever tell you the truth about that one?"

"What truth?" He sounds confused, completely out of the know. And there's another pause. "It was Jonah and his fucking Mar-"

"Horny Mary Poppins?" She continues, trails off, accent in full swing.

Pause.

Silence.

"The fuck?" He doesn't sound mad, or angry, rather just... Stunned. "The fuck!"

"You stole my job."

"Yeah, well..." He swallows, and she can practically hear his breath, "Now I wanna phone fuck."

"Why am I not surprised that my trying to destroy you just turned you on? So twisted."

"So?" Dan asks, and she hears his fucking fly unzip, "Come on."

"Are you fucking kidding me? No." She shakes her head, face flushed despite herself, "Take care of that one yourself, asshole." Amy brushes hair behind her ear, yawns when she can't hold it back any longer.

"I'll be thinking of you."

"So gross. Whatever. I'm going to bed."

"Sweet wet dreams," Jesus, fuck, his breathing is _heavy_ , "of me."

"Yeah, dream the fuck on, Dan."

"Oh, I will."

 


	7. Perception

Richard is the first one she sees. He waltzes into the new Iowa office like he's high on some kind of sugar rush, and he's handing papers to every single intern before Amy has a chance to look them over.

"We need them to sign confidentiality wavers." He tells Amy once he's by her side, hands clasped behind his back, smile ever-present because he's Richard and he's like an overgrown fucking teddy bear.

She frowns, says, "Yeah, I know that."

Selina comes in shortly after, Gary hot on her heels, Kent and Dan trailing behind them, discussing something Amy can't clearly make out.

_Jesus, did they all carpool into a fucking mini van or what?_

Selina greets a couple of passing interns first. They have her face printed on their t-shirts, and she smiles through gritted teeth, "Where's Ben?" 

"Kitchen, filling up his fuckin' mug." Dan informs her, absent, nodding over in the direction of the small room.

She pulls a face before turning her attention towards Amy.

"Ame, good job." She nods, "The place looks... adequate." She scratches her earlobe, clearing her throat, "Did it take long?"

The posters are up, Selina's main office already set up, the meeting room ready to go.

"The interns did most of the work, ma'am. I was just supervising." Amy had arrived several hours ago, and she'd assigned a handful of the new hires several tasks -- because she didn't have enough time to do them herself, because she didn't feel like doing some of the shit on Selina's list of chores.

 They'd come through, thankfully. And the kitchen is stocked, too.

 "Well, alrighty, folks." Selina rubs her hands together, her fingertips pushed together, "Let's get started."

* * *

 

"I think I had some bad peanuts on the flight or- Yeah, it must've been the peanuts." 

Dan has a hand pressed to his stomach, and his cheeks are puffed out as though he's going to just about ready to barf.

"Please don't tell me those are 'sympathy pains'," Amy warns him, "Don't even fucking try and pull that card."

"Yeah, Dan?" Selina interjects, eyeing him skeptically, "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I believe he ate some rather sketchy looking peanuts on the plan, ma'am." Kent cuts in, "I myself opted for just a water." He smooths a hand in the air horizontally, "Lines the stomach, no regurgitation."

"Uh." Dan groans, sits himself down on the sofa, "It's probably food poisoning, right? That's what it is?"

Ben chuckles, "Jesus, Dan, if it's fucking food poisoning, you'll be fine. Stop acting like you're fucking contracting."

"His asshole probably is." Amy adds, typing away on her phone, and she only looks up when the room has fallen silent, "What?"

"That's not funny, Amy." Selina shakes her head, "Don't joke about that."

  _hat the-_

"Ma'am, I don't think I can do the interview."

"What interview?"

"You didn't fucking tell her?" Ben asks, and he looks just about ready to smack Dan upside the head with his huge mug, "He booked you guys an interview with a writer for HuffPo. She's coming by later today."

"Thanks for the head's up, asshole." Amy grumbles, glaring over at the crumpled man on the couch. That  _fucker!_

She isn't prepared, isn't ready to bullshit her way through something like that. Sure, she can trash-talk anyone. Sure, she can spew complete nonsense to any politician on any given day. But talking about her personal life, without first _planning_ what she's going to say?

Please fucking _no._

"Listen the fuck up, Action Dan." Selina points her index finger, "You're  gonna  get up, and you're gonna do it within the next thirty seconds or I'll have Kent shove another bag of peanuts down your fucking pie hole. Toughen the fuck up."

She prods at his chest, shoves him back (nearly) when he's stood-- in reality, he just takes a step back to move away from her -- with a roll of the eyes on his part.

"I'm not having my relaunch  fucked  with because you're feeling a little under the weather."

"Ma'am, it's fine. I can do it alone." Amy offers, palms held up, iPhone damn near screwed up in her fist. It keeps beeping, flashing. She can see Dan pointing at her out of the corner of her eye, all wide-eyed and boyish as if to say 'See? She's fine!'.

Fuck him.

"See?." He shrugs, proves Amy right, gaze flickering back and forth between the two women, "Right, Ames?"

"I don't give a shit." Selina pulls a face, throws her shoulders back, calm, "You both did this, so now you're both going to fix it. Don't you fucking put it all on her. This was your idea, genius."

"I'm aware of that." He mumbles, rubs his hands together, fingers stretched. Well, technically, it was his  _and_  Selina's idea -- but he refrains from bringing that up, "Fine. Amy, go find a dress."

"Do I look like I have time to go find something to wear?" She scowls, shakes her head softly, watches as he turns to Gary.

Dan slips her keycard from her purse -- when had he picked it up and looked through it exactly? \-- and hands it to the balding man.

"Gary?" He forces the card into the man's hands, raises both brows sharply, "Go to Amy's room, find something for her to wear to this interview."

"Okay, but are we going for here?" Gary waves a hand down his body, gesturing down his front, "Like, a sexy housewife? Business mom chic-"

"I don't fuckin' care, Gary! Just find something that doesn't scream 'I once had sex and got knocked up and now I'm fucked!'." Dan stares him down, "Can you do that?"

"Alright." He holds up the key, face the picture of innocence, and then he smiles, turns to face Amy, "I'm thinking that blue number. Did you pack it? You know, the light-"

"Just fucking go!" Amy screams, waving her phone-holding hand around, muscles stressed and face flushed. She grits her teeth, gums visible as she moves to push fallen hair behind her ears with her free hand.

Selina sends her a look then, hand on her hip, "Okay, well, you need to tone it down a fucking notch... or, you know, ten." 

"Ma'am," the blonde starts, approaching with small steps, back straight and shoulders tense, "I didn't mean to yell, but I'm now being forced into doing something that I'm not entirely comfortable with, and was not prepared for, and- I- I'm sorry."

Dan rolls his eyes. She  _did_  agree...

Her lips stay parted, and it's clear she hasn't finished processing what she means to say (she's still buffering, nodding to herself), but her eyes lower when Selina makes a move in her direction, stepping in front of the younger woman as though she towers over her when it truth there's only like an inch or so difference.

"Well, Amy, while I respect your choice to go through with this abomination of a pregnancy," she presses a hand against her heart, glares at Dan (who's too busy on his phone to pay her much mind -- he's probably Googling his symptoms), "I'd like to remind you that you skipped sex ed, went straight for the dick, and now you two dummies have turned my office into some kind of low-rent underground production of Spring _fucking_ Awakening!." She snarls (the way only Selina fucking Meyer can), "Do you  _understand_  what I'm saying?"

Her nose crinkles, and she smiles in that false, phoney way she's perfected over the years.

"Okay? It means that you're going to sit and grin through that fucking interview, and you're gonna act like you wouldn't rather be shoving a coat hanger up your goddamn baby-maker, alright?"

A _little_ harsh, maybe.

Dan looks up at that, frown evident, fingers hovering over the screen of his phone as though he lost all train of thought.

"Yes, I understand." Amy sucks at the insides of her cheeks, blinks a couple times after finally looking at Selina. She forces the smallest of smiles, tries to avoid the flaring of her nostrils.

"Good."

"I have work to do, so..."

"Yeah." Selina nods, "Go do that. The reporter will be here in two hours."

* * *

"God, fucking- Fuck her."

She mutters it below her breath, but Ben is on the opposite side of the table and the little snort he lets out lets Amy know that he heard her loud and clear.

"Jesus, say that any louder and you'll be out on your ass."

Amy looks up, clicks at the tip of her pen, closes the bider full of paperwork she has to get finished sometime today. "She's fucking insane."

"You're only just learning that?" Ben quips, "Thought you would've figured that out years ago."

"Oh, I did." She nods, confirms, eyes wide and practically bulging. "But she has gotten so much worse lately." She rubs her temples, "Then again, being a cunt is probably just one of the many side effects of menopause."

"Yeah?" He stifles a laugh, swivels in his seat just as Kent an Dan come bouncing through the doorway, an intern at their heels. Of course, his fucking food poisoning had passed by now.

Gary came back with her dress a solid ten minutes ago, and she knows she should probably finish up and get changed already, but lunch just sounds  _so_  inviting right now.

The intern slides four white boxes along the table, pulls packets of cutlery from a brown paper bag and leaves the room just as quickly as he'd entered. (Ben's request, obviously, that lunch be sent for.)

 _Fuck, yes, chicken linguini_.

"The fuck, you still haven't gotten changed?"

Dan pulls at his tie -- because of course he'd gone back to his room to put on a different suit and change his tie and probably brush his teeth and trim his asshole hair just to  _freshen up_  -- and he frowns over in Amy's direction.

"No, I was fucking working. You know, that thing we're getting paid for..." She offers, dropping her pen on the desk as Ben slides over her lunch.

Dan only rolls his eyes, "Yeah, well, we've got a fucking interview to prep for so d'you maybe wanna hurry things the fuck along?"

"I'm sorry, are you telling me to skip a meal?" She lifts a brow, lifts the lid off of her pasta, "Not really recommended when you're carrying the fucking Omen child from hell."

"Funny." Dan slips into the seat beside Ben, tapping his fingers along the desk just as she stabs a fork into her meal. "Enjoying that?"

"Yeah." She nods, shoves a forkful of wrapped linguini into her mouth, "Why? Did you want some?" She grins, mouth closed, speaking past her lips, "Because you can't have any."

Dan half-glares, half-smirks at her throughout the rest of lunch, and she knows he's really just waiting for her to hurry up and get moving. So, she deliberately takes longer, savours her meal.

"Amy-"

"I'm fucking done, Jesus." She tosses the plastic fork down, tongues the piece of spinach caught in her teeth before speaking, "Where's this fucking dress then?"

He nods over to the corner of the room, where her pastel blue dress hangs over one of the hooks of the coatrack. Gary placed a pair of heels at its feet, strapless ones she hasn't worn in fucking forever.

"If it doesn't fit, you're just gonna have to settle for this one, buddy." She informs Dan, knowing he's watching her walk.

It might not even fit anymore. She hasn't put much weight on (she guesses), and her stomach's still flat as all hell, but maybe... Tough shit.

"If it doesn't fit, you're just gonna have to wear your jacket over it or something because you're not wearing a fucking long blouse for this thing." He points out, stands up to follow her to the bathroom.

Amy stops in the doorway, shoes dangling from her fingertips. She shoots him a look, grins, "And where the fuck do you think you're going?"

He rests a hand on the doorway, leans in, "With you."

"Uh, no, you're fucking not." She shrugs, shakes her head, shuffles into the room quickly enough to close the door before he can stop her, follow.

* * *

 

Maybe eating just before wasn't such a good idea... Fuck it.

"You need to zip me up."

She pulls her hair up, drops her head to give him access to her back.

"Fuck's sakes." Dan grumbles, running his hand down his sides as he walks over to her, glancing down at his watch. He knows she doesn't  _exactly_  want to do this interview, but it's so unlike her to be running late for something. She's usually on top of things, ahead of time even.

He grips the zipper between his thumb and forefinger, carefully the skin of the low of her back. Not is  _not_  the time. "Jesus, fuck." He pulls at the tiny zip, yanking it halfway up until it reaches the bottom of her shoulder-blades. "Can you... unclench?"

"Fuck off." She scowls, kicks him in the shin with the side of her foot, "I am unclenched. It's not my fault I have broad shoulders."

Dan grimaces, grips her covered waist with one hand, tugs at the zipper with his other hand until he can get the thing up her back. The material of the dress stretches at her seams, her upper body even tenser than before.

"Jesus, how the fuck have you gained weight already?"

"I just had a whole meal, you fucking shitstick." She reminds him, turning to pick up her heels. "Thanks for the compliment though, asshole."

"When have I ever complimented you, Amy?" He asks, kind of smugly, and she's only half-certain he has a point. Her brain, skills, smarts? Yeah, sure,  _those_  he's complimented. Her looks? Not so much. Never, now that she can think of it.

 _Fuck him_.

"Whatever." She pulls a face, brows creasing as she slips into her shoes, bending over with one hand on the edge of the desk. She pushes past him then, sliding her closed binder from the desk, tossing her jacket over her arm. Her hair is pulled up into a loose ponytail, swinging behind her back as the office door shuts behind her.

"Wear the ring!" He calls out after her.

"Fucking hell, Dan, I'm not even that mean with my own wife... she's had like three of the little bastards." Ben shakes his head, leaning back in his seat (mug obviously in hand).

Dan frowns, hands on his hips, corners of his mouth turned up as though he's trying to convey an emotion other than confidence but he isn't sure how.

"I think what he means to say is that she's carrying your child, so maybe avoid calling her fat from now on?"

"I didn't fuckin' call her fat!" He defends himself, casually shrugging his shoulders like a cocky teenager. Okay, well... "Not in so many words."

"There's your problem, Danny." Ben perks up, but his double-chin adds some gravel to his voice, "Maybe try  _not_  being a complete dick every once in a while?" He suggests, "That, or your kid's first words will probably be: _'Wah, mommy! Daddy said you were fucking unattractive and he'd rather fuck a corpse!'_." He imitates a baby's cry, scrunches up his face. It's not pretty.

He didn't say she was unattractive, so-

Kent nods, repeatedly pointing a finger towards Ben, "He may have a point. Unintentional though it may be, that kind of abusive language-

"It's not abusive, what the- Fuck this."

* * *

 "Amy-"

"Don't fucking talk to me."

He has his own room but (once again), he followed her up to her room, and entered when she left the door open, taking it as some sort of invitation.

The interview had gone pretty well. Or, well, as good as it could have gone given their sham of a relationship. They'd answered the questions, she'd let him kiss her cheek once or twice, he hadn't pulled a face when she tapped his knee. They'd be  _believable_. But-

_How long have you guys been engaged? Dan, how was it hiding your relationship? How are you liking your new home? Amy, how are you liking motherhood? Are you guys ready for the when the baby comes? Are you gonna safety-proof the apartment? Are you gonna hire a nanny?_

_Amy, how are you going to handle being a working mom? Amy, how are you coping? Amy, are you eating healthily? Amy, are you working out regularly? Amy, when did you decide that you wanted kids? Amy, have you been- Amy, have you done- Amy, how are you going to-_ Amy!

"It went fine." He tries, closes the door after himself, taking in the way she pacing back and forth at the bottom of the bed. "Look, it'll come out tomorrow and then we'll just lay low for awhile, alright?"

"I am a lone uterus in a sausage fest of an office, alright?" Her eyes widen and she swallows a breath, "Selina doesn't count, before you throw that one out."

"I wasn't gonna."

_What the fuck is she talking about?_

Dan holds up both hands, watches as she paces the room, an iPad in one hand (when did she pick that up?  _why_  did she pick that up?), her empty fist clenching and unclenching. He watches her with a frown plastered of his face, utterly confused by her sudden irritation.

"Do you want us to hire more female interns or something? We can-"

"No, that's not it. It's," she starts, pausing to scratch at her forehead, "Look, I've been working myself to the bone for years, for fucking  _years_. I've made a name for myself, from scratch. And, while I'm not proud of everything I've done to get to where I am, I don't want my accomplishments to be watered down because of my parenting, or my looks." She huffs, turns her head to look at him but keeps her body facing the television, "Do you understand?"

_Why do your looks matter? You're fucking-_

"I don't-"

"No, you don't." She laughs -- a little, to herself mostly -- and she closes her eyes with a slight shake of her head, "Of course you fucking don't. You're  _you_ , you're fucking Danny Egan from CBS," she shrugs (quick), runs fingers through her hair (swift), "You've never fucking understood."

"Then explain it to me." He approaches, frustration growing. What the fuck does she  _want_? "Please."

"I don't-" Her fist clenches, doesn't unclench this time, and her knuckles whiten, "You wouldn't understand because you're not a woman. You don't have people judging you. You don't have men fucking eagle-eyeing you at every fucking turn. You don't have women jumping down your throat every five fucking minutes because you had a little extra strawberry sauce on your sundae."

He'd laugh at the mention of ice cream (again) if she wasn't so serious. She's so fucking serious and, honestly, he's a little taken aback. He doesn't handle emotions well, he  _knows._ Or, at all really. Mainly because he likes to pretend he doesn't feel anything, mostly because he likes to think he  _can't_  feel anything. It doesn't matter if he lies to himself.

He doesn't know how to deal with emotions, so it's easier to pretend to feel nothing at all. If he can't admit that he's feeling something, then what's the point in even trying to understand that sensation? And if he doesn't know how to properly process a feeling (internally), then why bother attempting to express his feelings (aloud)?

So, the thought of having to deal with her shit right now? A little terrifying.

"You don't have people watching your every move because you're pregnant and people like to have a say when you're pregnant. People like to tell you shit when you're pregnant, they like to suggest stuff, and give you advice because god-fucking-forbid you handle shit differently than they did. Lord fucking knows you have to be happy, and you have to be healthy, and you have to be fucking  _glowing_."

 _Okay_...

He'll bite, he'll  _try_ , "Amy-"

"What if I'm not, though?" She cuts him off, "What if I'm not? And I don't want to be? What if the reason I'm not glowing is because I don't want to be fucking glowing?" She sits down at the end of bed, settles the tablet down next to her, drops her hands to her lap.

She kicks her shoes off, and Dan has no idea what the fuck to say to her.

He isn't good with this kind of thing. And he can't even pretend to be.

He's never really mastered the art of caring for someone, or even faking sympathy. Hell, he's never  _really_  tried, so maybe-

"I don't, uh," He moves one step closer, and then two, "Do you want me to call someone?"

"What?" She lifts her head so quickly he's honestly kind of afraid it might have snapped off, "No." She frowns, lowers her gaze, "Fuck no."

Dan grinds his teeth behind closed lips, and he glances around the room thoughtfully. What the fuck is he supposed to do?

Hug her? Jesus, yeah, because  _that_  will go down well. He doesn't even know how to initiate a hug. Does he slide his arms beneath hers and hope she responds, or should he just wrap them around her, like some kind of cocoon? Fuck. 

He definitely doesn't know what to say to her, so saying anything at all is out of the question. Should he... Kiss her? No. She'd probably kick him in the balls. And she doesn't exactly look up for  _that_  right now.

 _Fuck_.

"Are you just going to fucking stand there?

She's glaring up at him, head in her hands, elbows pressing into her knees. Her face is pinker than usual, cheeks flushed and lips plump. They part slowly as Dan sits down beside her, hands clasped between his legs.

His back arches and he sighs heavily, letting her shift her attention from his face to the floor.

Her breathing doesn't steady much, but he's really fucking thankful she hasn't started crying, because fuck, if she had... That would be the worst.

She curves her back, fingers rubbing at her temples, and he can see the stitching of her dress quite clearly stressing at the seams.

Okay, so it's a little tight... But really, who gives a shit? Those things were supposed to hug you like a glove, right? They were supposed to show off every lump and bump and flaw, right?

Granted, he's a straight guy, and a sexually active one at that, so he's never really seen the problem with tight dresses. And, if he's being honest, it isn't that she looks unattractive. He can't think of one outfit that makes her look  _bad_. He can't imagine her looking-

It's just that the dress is so tight, and it's so close to the skin, and her shoulders are so broad, and she folds in on herself too much, and the fucking zipper is tiny, and her fucking curves are screaming, and every single inch of her waist is suffocating, and all of her flaws are visible, and her muscles are so tense, and her fucking body is begging to be set free, and- honestly  _fuck Gary for making her wear this_.

He's pulled down the zipper before he even has time to second guess his actions, and she gasps at the sensation of cold air hitting her bare back, the chill of an unheated room sending shivers down her spine and up her arms.

The tiny hairs at the low of her back stand up, and her pale skin covers in goosebumps, and Dan smirks (proud, to his own surprise).

"Better?"

She only lifts her head to face him, brows knitted, lips drawn thin. "What did you do that for?"

"You couldn't fuckin' breath." He tells her as though it's obvious, and he leans back on his elbows, admires the low of her back, the clasp of her bra.

"I was breathing fine."

"Fine, then. Jesus Christ, I was just trying to help." Dan rolls his eyes (unbeknownst to her), and he feels the smirk playing on his lips fade into a smile (honest), "You look better."

"Because I looked like shit before? Yeah, you told me that already." She mutters, resting her head in the palm of her right hand, haunching her back to bend over and toss her shoes away.

 _Shit_.

"I didn't mean it."

He recognises that he's probably gonna have to apologise in some form, even if he doesn't really see where he went wrong in the first place, even if he doesn't see how his words could have caused offensive. Well, he can kind of see-

"Yeah, you did." She says, follows it up with a yawn. "You meant it. It's fine, whatever."

_Well, it's obviously not fuckin' fine Amy because you just had a minor fucking breakdown and you're fucking blaming me for it._

"If it helps, I know at least like six guys who'd fuck you if you asked." He offers, dares to move his hand to her back, dares to touch her. She flinches, but he doesn't withdraw his hand, "Myself included."

"You sure they aren't all you in different settings?" She hitches a brow, stretches out her left arm, the curve of her back arching when he follows her movement, runs a finger up her spine. (It tickles, that  _fucker_.)

"You mean, like, if I didn't know you?" He says, stops with the tip of his finger pressing against the sharpness of her shoulder, "If I didn't know every little inch of little ol' Amy Brookheimer?"

"You don't know every little inch." She copies, denies, "You're so fucking proud of yourself even when there's nothing to be proud of." Amy adds, looking down at him out of the corner of her eye, watching as he pushes up onto one arm, turning onto his side.

His long legs hang over the end of the bed and she's so fucking tempted to kick him for no reason whatsoever.

"Fine, then. If we met now instead of ten years ago?" He counteroffers, "Yeah, I'd probably fuck you."

"Probably."

"Probably fuck, definitely wanna have sex with." He smirks (he is  _still_  himself, after all).

"Who are these other guys then?"

"Well, first, we have Jonah, of course."

"Oh, God." She whines, lets out the smallest of laughs at the thought. "Can you imagine? It'd be like fucking the Green Giant. Just less nutritious."

"Yeah, I'd rather not." He grimaces, pokes her shoulder -- because he can, because he wants to, because on any other day it would annoy the hell out of her and he wants to do just that. "Leon, too, obviously."

"Fuck." Amy groans, brows creasing, nose crinkling, "Don't remind me.

"What, that Selina tried pimping you out?" She can hear the joy in his voice, the sheer glee hidden in his question, "You mean you wouldn't have fucked him if he agreed? I'm shocked, Brookheimer. Really."

"I mean that was the night we went for drinks so maybe I'd have gone home with anyone."

"Yeah, sure you would have." Dan rebuffs her comment, "Because you've always been one for sleeping around."

"Maybe once."

Before Buddy, before Ed, before- Well...

"What?"

"What?"

"Your face, you look... Pensive." His brows knit, his lips curling into a soft grin (and she's truly amazed by the  _softness_  of his face because it's fucking  _soft_ ).

"Oh. I was just-"  _Bullshit him, Amy. Bullshit him._  "Nothing."

"No, seriously. What?" He leans up, lets his hand drop from her shoulder and she kind of misses it, kind of hates herself for becoming so accustomed to his touch, "What were you thinking about?"

_He wants me to be thinking of that, doesn't he? He wants me to be thinking of him?_

She smiles, adjusts her position so she's facing him. Her back straightens and she pushes up on her palms, flat against the bedspread. "Do you really wanna know?"

"Obviously." He blinks, and she can see his Adam's apple bob when he swallows, when she crosses her legs.

 _Okay, so, maybe... Maybe I'm not so-_  She beams.

"Amy."

_Bullshit him, Amy. Bullshit him. He deserves it._

"I was just..." She lowers her voice, bats her lashes and hopes to  _fuck_  he takes her seriously, "I was imagining what it would be like if someone told me I was pretty."

"What?" His voice catches in his throat and she wants to laugh so badly.

_What?_

"Are you serious?"

"Yes." She nods, licks her lips (slowly) as she eyeballs him.

She knows him, knows he doesn't-  _Come fucking through, Dan. Fall for it, asshole._

"Okay."

"What?"

She doesn't need his approval, his praise. She knows it, and she was sure as shit positive that he knew it, too. But if she can get one compliment out of him well then, fuck, why not? Why not mess with him? Why not fuck with his emotions?

"You-" Dan pauses, and his eyes squint as he contemplates his next words, rolls them over his tongue again and again before he says them. His face is the picture of agony, as though it's  _so hard_  to say something  _nice_.

_Jesus, fuck, have you really never complimented anybody?_

"You are," he leans closer to her, and she can feel his voice more than she can hear it, she can feel his breath on her back more than she feels his hand on her waist, grabbing and pulling and holding, "You are delectable."

"Delectable?" Amy smiles, all teeth and gums and sheer fucking  _glee_. She should be fucking recording this.

_Wow, Dan. You really went for it there._

He nods once, twice, three times, and forces his emotions to the surface, a picture perfect smile etching itself onto his face. His chin dips, his light scruff creasing, and his eyes darken. There's a hint of pain behind his expression, as though he wants to take it back but he refuses to let himself.

She'd buy him a gold medal if it weren't for the fact that he  _owed_  her this.

His grip on her waist tightens, and she'd push him off if she wasn't so damn intrigued by this newfound level of his character. If he can be flirty, then he can be nice, surely. If he can say  _that_ , then he can-

"What if that's not good enough?"

"The fuck do you want from me then?" He half-scowls, but she figures that he doesn't even know he's doing it because his gaze is focused solely on her back, on her bra.

Even absentmindedly, he's a complete pick.

"What would you like me to say?" He breathes, sound exasperated -- as though being anything but awful for one minute is killing him.

"I'm not just gonna tell you. Christ, Dan. You're a big boy, work it out."

_You've got some semblance of a heart in there, Dan. Use it._

"Fine. You're-" His thumb slips around her waist, presses into her back.  _Fuck him and his large hands_. "You are sensational."

"You really can't say anything that isn't sexually suggestive, can you?"

"For fuck's sake." He pulls at her side then, forcefully moving her to lie down on the bed. She doesn't protest, watching as he sits up, letting him curl a hand around the back of her neck.

Amy's brows raise -- in mild amusement because  _what the fuck is he even doing?_  -- and she bites her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing.

He looks down at her, takes more time than she'd like to finally say something, anything. He doesn't smile, but his eyes crinkle and he  _really_  doesn't look comfortable. She kind of loves it, kind of...

 _How fucking hard is it to just_ not _be a dick?_

His hand curves around her waist to slide across her stomach, and he rests his palm on her abdomen (low), and then he speaks (slow), and she's completely still, "You are,  _ridiculously_  really, absolutely fuckin' stunning."

"That's a lot of adjectives."

"I can take them back." He offers through gritted teeth because  _there_  is that forced smile, and now she truly, desperately wants to kick him in the shin. She knows he wants to take them back so he can pretend he never said them, not because he never meant them.

 _Fuck you_.

"Thank you."

She  _did_  have to drag that one out of him, and he  _does_  look drained. It's hysterical, really; how hard it is for him to say something kind, how hard it is for him to compliment her. Or, well, anyone, she imagines.

"You're welcome." It sounds like a question, and she's pretty sure it's because no one has every thanked him for anything of the sort and he doesn't actually know what to do now. He's like a lost puppy, a toddler who just lost grip of his mommy's hand in the middle of a supermarket on Christmas Eve.

"You had to dig real deep for that one, huh?" She teases, nudges his side with her elbow, closing her eyes when his hand lifts from her stomach.

_That's what you get, asshat._

"Not really." She feels him shrug (again), and then he's lying down beside her, all long limbs and crinkled shirt. "Easier than I thought it would be."

Of course he'd be proud of himself.  _Piece of piss, right?_

"Then why do you look like someone who just had their balls forced through a meat grinder?" She turns her head to face him.

"You gonna tell me how handsome I am now?" He suggests, ignores her question. He doesn't face her, but she can see the cocky grin rising up his face to his eyes, "How dashing I am in a suit?"

"Dan, you have the face of one of those pasty white guys who shot up his high school because you know, the struggle was real, and ended up on the evening news."

"Are you saying I look like a terrorist?"

"I'm saying that if they were gonna recast Cruella DeVil as a guy, you'd be perfect. You've got that naturally crazed look of someone who would happily skin a little of puppies just to make money."

"Says the woman whose eyes look like they're gonna bulge out of her head every time she comes. I mean, fuck!" He mocks, blinking wide.

"He says, the man who looks like a stretched out penis when he ejaculates. You're all pasty and veiny and shit." She giggles, softly snorts when he groans back.

"And yet, you keep coming back."

"You didn't give me much of a choice." She says, eyes him, "I'm fucking stuck with you now."

"For life." He faces her then, one brow raised so high she's half-certain it'll stick. "Forever."

"Don't remind me." Amy sighs, feels her eyes drift to a close, feels his hand make its way onto her leg. "Or, you know, yeah. Do remind me."

"Yeah?"

She hums, nods.

"It's not like you're good for anything else."

He tugs at the bottom of her dress, pulling the tight material up her left leg until one side of the dress rests at her hip. He slips his hand past the waistband of her underwear, lets her pull her right leg up before proceeding.

"Aren't you glad you have me for this at least?" He asks, shuffles closer, rests his forehead against her shoulder for a brief moment, keeps his hand busy beneath her panties. "Amy?"

"Shut up."

Complying, Dan sits up, removes his fingers from her crotch and waits until she looks at him (longing) before he moves over her, lying his palms flat on either side of her head.

"What are you doing?"

"I wanna see if I can actually make your eyes pop out of your head this time." Dan jokes, grabbing the side of her face in one hand, the other lowering between her legs again. "Did you get close last night?"

"What?" She rasps, arches when he pulls her dress up to her waist, curls when he drags her underwear down her legs and tosses them aside.

"You're telling me you didn't rub it out after our little talk?" She shakes her head, and pulls the straps of her dress down her arms, leaving the material around her stomach.

She doesn't move to take off her bra, instead just props her head up with one arm, lets the other grab his shoulder, steady him as makes to remove his pants.

"You're on your own on that one."

"Fine by me. You'll be happy to know I was thinking of you the whole time."

"Lovely." She tells him, gasps when he pushes the ball of his hand against her clit, the roughness of his zipper rubbing against her pelvis. "Jesus, just fucking take your pants off."

"Looks like somebody's eager-"

"Don't fucking say it." She digs her fingernails into his shoulder, "God, you're awful."

"Awfully delightful." Dan corrects, lowers his head to her chest, pressing up on his elbows to kick his pants and boxers down his ankles.

Amy pushes up into him with a glare when he grips her waist, digging the pads of his fingers into the low of her back, pressing and  _owning_ , "There's nothing delightful about you. You're just a shit."

"Yeah?" He grinds into her then, face harsh, nudges her legs apart with his knees, grabs her right thigh with his palm (rough), "And you're just uptight."

"I'm not-"

"Right, I'm sorry." Bump, push, and his hand slips from her waist to her ass, "You're just tight."

She waits until he's finally slipped past her folds, all stiff and tense and  _fuck!_ , before mumbling, "I fucking hate you."

She pushes at his chest then, hammers against him with small fists until he rolls over, lets her straddle his lap.

"Feeling's mutual, baby.


	8. Deterioration

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I'm really bad at replying to reviews and such but I think this chapter should resolve quite a few of your concerns, and it's... Ah, let's just say, I've started some angst that won't be easily swept under the metaphorical rug because I've had this chapter (well, one half if it, at least) planned since I started writing this fic.

A couple weeks after they get back from Iowa, she's well into her nineteenth week. Selina gives them some time to 'relax, regroup, refocus', as she calls it. It's absolute bullshit, but Amy will happily take some time to herself.

The only downfall is that her alone time now consists of hanging out with Dan - because  _he never fucking leaves!_  - and having to host his fucking mother for a day or two because she somehow caught wind of the pregnancy and has decided to pop her son a visit after, like, years.

"I thought you hadn't told them yet." She hands him the mug full of coffee, one brow perked up. 

"I didn't, but I'm pretty sure her ears still fuckin' work. And she watches the news." He accepts the cup with a slight nod, "And she's got a fucking Google alert set up for my name."

Amy stifles a laugh at that, "Oh, I'm sure that's been a fun read over the years. Reading about you getting fired over and over... and  _over_ , and fucking Jane McCabe-" 

"Didn't fuck her." 

"Might as well have done." It's her turn to shrug now, and she does so with a grin. "Still, she wasn't mad? That you didn't tell her?" 

Dan takes a sip of the coffee, leans back to rest one hand on the countertop, "Didn't sound like it. She's always wanted me to settle down with a nice homely girl." He says (wickedly), "Imagine her surprise when she meets you." 

"Oh, fuck you." Amy scowls, face harsh, "Like you're some kind of fucking family man? I'm a fucking angel compared to you." 

"An angel with the perfect face for 'cuntgate', sure." He shrugs. 

"I'll have you know, I can be very fucking quaint, all right?" She runs her fingers through her hair, turns her back on him. 

She can't, though. Not really, not even a little bit - or, well, at all. And he  _knows_  she can't be homely, so it's- 

"Not that it matters. I'm not gonna play nice just so your mom thinks you can be  _anything_  but a bastard." 

"You wanna just go right ahead and tell her that you're the one who told me to forgo the fuckin' condom? She'll love that. You know what, I'll just write 'Amy rides bareback' on my front fuckin' door. That'll really get the message across." 

"Whatever. She should just be happy I didn't abort her only shot at having a grandchild." 

"What?" He blinks, places a now half-empty mug down on the side. "My brother's got like two kids already." 

"You're an uncle?" She almost chokes, "This is too good." Amy spins back around to face him, hands wet and dripping from the sink water, sucking in her bottom lip between her teeth, "Did you buy them action figures for Christmas?" 

Dan pulls a face, tilts his head to one side, "I sent them like two hundred bucks each, it was cool." He shrugs (again, annoyingly, and she wants to hit his shoulder).

"Why is that not even the slightest bit surprising?" She squints, watches as he closes the distance between them, and then her eyes widen and her brows raise in slight amusement, "What are you doing?"

"We have time." He suggests, and she can already see his right hand making for her ass. 

Pushing one hand against his chest, she holds him back, "Uh, fuck no. That door's not locked and I'm not having your mother walk in when you've got a semi. Jesus." She shoves him off, rounds his body until there's some space between them. 

"Semi? Underestimating me there, Ames." He teases her, all crooked smirk and freckles, retrieving his coffee to finish it off. "Raincheck?" 

"Sure thing. I'll just clear some time in my 'never gonna fucking happen' calendar. Should have an opening for you next week." 

"You've always got an opening for me, Amy, no need to pretend otherwise." He dumps his cup in the sink. 

"Wash it." 

"I'll wash it later?" He offers, wrapping one hand around the fridge door and watching as she pulls a bottle of water from the shelf. "Can't believe the fucking dishwasher's broke already." 

"Well, if you hadn't kicked it-"

"It was making that weird fuckin' chugging noise-" 

"Whatever. You're paying for the repair, by the way." 

"Fine." He scoffs, "And in the meantime, you can wash the dishes and shit." He suggests (basically  _tells_ ) with a smirk and she only hits his arm in retaliation. 

Amy unscrews the cap of her bottle then, "When is she due?" 

"Anytime how." He says, "Just don't, you know, mention the whole fake engagement thing." 

"You gonna lie to your own mother about that?" 

"She's a fucking old school Catholic, of course I'm gonna lie about that."

"So, if I tell her that you knocked me up  _completely_  out of wedlock there's a chance that she'll want to help me castrate you? Excellent." Her eyes twinkle and he really, truly hates her sometimes. Maybe-

"No, Amy. There will be no ball-chopping while she's here." His brows raise and lower, and then he's looking to the floor (briefly), licking his lips. 

"Fine, Jesus." Her eyes widen is fake annoyance as she looks off to the side, and she clears her throat, tilting her head back up to look at him. "How old school are we talking here? She's not gonna make me cook dinner and shit, is she?"

Amy gulps at that, and he can only laugh at her expense.

"I fuckin' hope not or we'll be eating expired mayonnaise on some dried ass spinach."

"You can just her out for a meal or whatever. I'll stay here, get some work done-" 

"Oh, you think I don't have my own shit to do?" He challenges, "Why don't you take her out? Get her know her a little?" 

Whether he's joking or not, she can't tell. 

"Dan, I got to know you. That's one Egan too many for one lifetime." She reasons, pokes his chest with one finger, right by his left nipple  _just_  to annoy him, "Can't we just have Richard take her to dinner or something?" 

"That'd be amazing." Dan agrees, nodding, lips slowly parting, "He's like a tour guide anyway. She'll fuckin' love it." 

"Text him." Amy tells him, "You text him, and then we'll just casually bring it up at lunch or something." 

"Why the fuck do I have to text him? It was your idea."

"Because, unlike me, you didn't have to put up with that over-caffeinated beaver-looking fuck for a whole year." She states, as though as it was so obvious, like Dan should just have sympathy for her or something. 

She knows better. And he doesn't even  _try_  to look understanding. 

_Damn it._  

Her shoulders raise and she folds her arms over her chest, "And if you don't, then I won't  _maybe_  blow you later." 

His phone is in his hand before she can even see him grab it off the side, and he's smiling away to himself like a goddamn douchebag. "Already on it." 

_Thank you?_  No, fuck that. He owes her. 

Before either of them can break the momentary silence, there's a knock - no, make that  _three_  knocks - at the front door, and Amy's nightmares and wildest fantasies are coming true at once. 

Meeting the woman who gave birth to, and is thus the reason for, the narcissistic, metrosexual, egocentrically self-serving assface that Dan Egan is today? A fucking  _dream_. 

Meeting the mother of her  _baby daddy_ , and having to try to not act completely like herself for more than a day, while said baby daddy puts on a show and pretends to be the recipient of Son of the Motherfucking Year award? A goddamn nightmare.

"Danny?" 

Amy's still, well,  _still_  - nothing new there - and Dan has to flick her on the ear to get to react. "Ow!" 

"Hey!" He stares down at her, prying the water from her hands, and lowering it down onto the countertop. "You good?" 

"No, I'm not good." Amy mimics, pulling a face and nudging his side (repeatedly? when he wraps an arm around her waist possessively. 

_For fuck's sake_. 

"Danny?" 

There she goes again, Amy thinks. The paternal grandmother of her child, the matriarch of the Egan household, the fucking so-called Mother Theresa of upstate New York.

And she sounds...  _lovely_?

_Oh, God, make it stop_. 

"Can you act normal?" 

"You sure you don't wanna hide the kitchen knives before you open the fucking door,  _Danny_?" She mutters, fidgets beneath his arm, tries to pry his hand from off of her shoulder. To no avail, of course. 

"Mom." 

He's pulled the door open, and she's stood there with her three bags full of shit, and Amy's fucking stressed, and- Fucking Christ! She is  _not_  ready for this. 

Dan alone is a fucking handful, but Dan with his mother? If he calls her _'mommy'_  even once, Amy's bailing so goddamn fast he won't even have time to blink. 

"My boy." 

_Help._  

He plasters on a smile Amy isn't sure she's ever seen, and honestly she's glad this is the first she's seeing of it because it's actually quite frightening. His range of expressions has always been quite limited, either a smirk or a frown, or forced confidence or careful fear. He doesn't even have a real come face, in all fairness. He just kinda- 

"You must be Amy." 

His mom has stopped kissing his cheeks now - as though they were one of those fucking too-close-for-comfort Italian families or something - and she's eyeing Amy up and down, all almond brown eyes and designer glasses and jean-clad long legs and the smile of a freaking domestic goddess. 

"Hi." Amy greets, forcefully holds one hand out, "Yes. I'm Amy." She tries a smile, shows a little too much tooth and Dan nudges her back - not too hard because, you know, she's still kinda pregnant with his evil spawn -, and she clears her throat. "It's  _nice_  to meet you." 

"Come here." 

She's being pulled into a hug before she can do anything to stop it, and Dan is just grinning, and his mother is just squeezing her  _so_  hard, and she seriously wants to fucking scream. 

She smells of fucking roses, and her voice is so calming, soothing, and Amy just doesn't understand how she could be Dan's -  _fucking_   _Dan's_! - mom. She's just so- 

There's a hand on her stomach then, fingers splayed out, smoothing patterns along the material of Amy's dress (feeling and fondling), and she's gonna pull her fingernails off with fucking pliers if she doesn't remove that hand right this fucking second. 

It's Dan that wraps his hand around his mother's wrist then, and Amy is actually grateful to him for once. "Mom, Amy isn't much of a... feeler?" He tries, one brow raised in contemplation. "Right?" 

"Right." The blonde nods, lets out a loaded breath when his mother retracts her fucking hand and gives her back the space to breathe. "Sorry." 

"No, sweetheart, no. It's okay, I get it." His mom - Maisie? Or was it... maybe... wait- Marie? Marci? 

_Shit._

"I completely understand." She nods to herself (maybe to Amy, too), and then she holds up her hands like Dan does when he's just proving a point, "I'm sorry, I'm just so happy to finally meet you." 

Yeah, so she clearly doesn't know  _shit_  about her, about them. 

Amy offers the sincerest of smiles she can muster, and she can already feel the bile rising in her throat. What the fuck is she supposed to say? 

_I can't wait to get to know you, Martha Marcy May Marlene!_  

_Fuck no._  

To quote Alicia Silverstone in that nineties romcom she could actually kind of decently act in,  _as fucking if!_  

"Yeah." Dan rasps, mumbling through gritted teeth. He looks down at Amy, seems to understand that she isn't exactly going to be very  _open_  any time soon. "Mom? Why don't I make you some coffee while Amy gets ready?" 

He'd nudge her again but she seems to get the message from just reading his face because he nods and she copies and then she's smiling (sincerely, this time), "Right. Yes." She hurries off, arms crossed, hands clutching her biceps so tight her knuckles stiffen. 

He watches her back as she goes, heading towards the bedroom as though she isn't already washed and dressed and, well, ready to get this bloody day over and done with. 

"She seems nice." 

His mom, Marie, is stood in front of the sink then, and she's running the tip of a manicured fingernail along the surface of the worktop. When the fuck did she drag her bags in- She looks up at her son, blinks twice. 

"Yeah." He forces, avoiding her eye for the slightest second. "Yeah, Amy's great." He scratches the side of his face, just below his temple, forgets just who he's talking to. She fucking taught him those signals. 

"What's wrong?" 

"Huh?" 

"Danny." It's condescending and he hates every single letter she pronounces, "Is she being hard on you?" 

"No." His brows knit, and his elbows slide along the counter, hands clasped. What the fuck? "No, she's- Look, she's-" 

"Not good with the whole parent thing? Yeah, I picked up on that." She gives him an 'it was blatantly fucking obvious' look and licks her lips, eyeing their living room, "She isn't like... an orphan or something, is she? Not that that'd be a problem, of course, I just don't want to slip up." 

"No, sadly, her parents are very much both still alive." He says, "Her dad's probably only a handjob away from heart failure though." 

"Dan!" She scolds, "You know I don't like your language." She points out, head tilting to one side in a way he recognises. "You can't talk like that in front of the baby. Or Amy. They can hear in-utero, you know." 

"Please, Amy's worse than I am. Just wait. I give it a couple hours and she'll break." He holds up one hand, waves off her comment. "Honestly, I'd be surprised if the kid didn't call me a dick as soon as it comes out." 

"Well," she sighs, purses her lips, "Anyway... What's the plan for today?" 

His phone beeps then, a few times actually because fucking Richard apparently can't send just  _one_  reply back, "Uh," Dan starts, partially distracted by the texts, "Yeah, we- We're gonna go to lunch. And we can  _talk_." 

He  _almost_  gulps at the thought. 

There's a bang from in the bathroom then, something falling to the floor, followed by a 'Fucking jizz-string floss!', and Dan can only hold up one finger, point it down the hallway. 

"See?" His brows raise and he smirks, either proud of himself for knowing Amy would swear within minutes of meeting his mother, or proud of Amy for just being herself. He can't decide which, kind of doesn't want to. 

"Yes, wonderful. It's a household of expletives." His mother rolls her eyes, "Your father would be so proud." 

_Fuck._  

"Can you not fucking compare me to the guy who now lives with his mistress, the waitress, in Jersey? For once in your life?" He asks, face almost the picture of desperation. "I could be worse, all right? I could be shooting heroine behind a fuckin' dumpster while getting gang-banged by a couple of child molestor ex-cons, but I'm not. Lord fuckin' knows I have the face for it." 

"Jesus, Dan, do you have to?" She warns, "I'm only gonna be here until tomorrow, can you just not be yourself? I didn't raise you like this."

"Whatever." He shoves his phone in his back pocket then, peels his coat from off the back of a stool. "Amy!"

"I'm coming!" 

She appears ten seconds later, a different pair of heels on her feet, her coat pulled tight over her stomach. 

"You look lovely." Marie offers, waving a hand over to the younger woman, and Amy's smile at least seems more casual now. 

"Thank you." The corners of her mouth curl upward and she reaches for her purse from Dan's hands, swaps it for the keys. 

* * *

 

So lunch doesn't go that smoothly. 

Or, at least, it does until Dan casually mentions that she'll be having dinner with Richard - a man she doesn't know, has never heard of - instead of Amy and himself. 

_We have work. You know that thing you haven't done in like five decades?_  

Turns out Dan isn't a complete fucking momma's boy, and Amy's really kind of disappointed. 

They have some weird passive-aggressive relationship, and he swears in front of his mother (the saint), and his mother swears back sometimes too. And it's strange as hell and Amy has no idea what to make of it. Maybe if she knew more about his dad or-

_I don't know this Richard. How do I know he's not going to mug me, or-_

_Yeah, he wouldn't even know_ how _to mug someone._

_Well, fine._

She'd offered to book herself at a nearby hotel to give them some extra space, but Amy had done the  _decent_  thing and promised that they'd be more than fine with her staying in the guest room. 

Dan  _had_  put sheets (and only the sheets) on the bed already, and Amy  _had_  done a half-assed job cleaning the room (well, the floor), so... Well, really, it'd be a waste if all that hard work had been for nought. 

_Thank you, Amy. That's really kind_. 

She's pretty fucking certain no one has ever said she was  _kind_  before. It's so weird being complimented by a woman over fifty who isn't her boss. It's so weird being called something  _positive_  

Truthfully, it's so weird that she isn't even sure she likes it. 

_It's no problem, really._  

Dan really kind of wanted her to act up, have a fucking meltdown or tear some lousy waiter a new asshole because he brought them sparkling water instead of still. But she... doesn't. She just kind of... is, and she makes smalltalk and his mother actually laughs at stuff she says and, sweet fuck, his mom and Amy are actually kind of getting along. 

They talk about her parents - meaning Amy complains about their intrusiveness and Dan tries to ignore the irony of the situation by adding fuel to the fire - and Marie asks how the pregnancy is going, if there's anything she can do. 

They make plans for her to come back ( _already!_ ) and visit them once the baby is born and they're all settled in. She writes it in her little book and Amy writes it in her phone and Dan is just so fucking confused by the whole thing. 

What kind of pill did Amy pop back in the bathroom? She's so... homely? 

And he hates it. Like, really, really, properly hates it. Except he hates it so much that he's passionate about it, to the point where he can't decide if he wants to strangle her to make it stop or fuck her to make it continue. 

_Christ_. 

"Your mom was nice." 

"What?" He stops in his tracks, a few feet away from their apartment door. She seems to sense his pause because she turns around, keys swaying in her hand. "Nice? My mom was  _nice_?" 

"What?" Amy frowns, bemused, "I kind of liked her." She shrugs, shoots him a look over her shoulder as she spins back around and heads for the front door. 

They'd left his mother somewhere in Central Park with Richard. Apparently Selina had given them  _all_  some much needed downtime and Richard hadn't been doing much these days save for playing video games with  _Jonah_  and walking his  _cat_ and trying new foods. 

They'd hit it off, talking about crabsticks or crabcakes or just fucking  _crabs,_ and Dan had grabbed Amy's hand and basically just hauled ass out of there, leaving them to it. 

"I like her better than I like you." 

"I'd be wounded if I thought that was even remotely possible." He tries, toys, catches up to her with ease. He's behind her, breathing down her neck, waiting until she unlocks the front door. 

"You're right." The key clicks and she shoves the door open, lifts one shoulder, closes in on herself when he lingers, hovers. "I don't like you at all so that must mean I like your mom a hell of a lot." 

Dan pushes one hand up against the doorframe then, as though he's waiting to be invited in, as though he doesn't own the fucking place, as though they've never done this. "Really?" He leans down, eyes her carefully, "You don't like me at all?" 

"Not one inch." Amy tosses the keys into the bowl, shifts from one foot to the other as though she's contemplating inviting him in, as though he hadn't chosen the apartment for them both, as though he hasn't already knocked her up. "Not even three inches." She smirks, and her cheeks softly flush, and her eyes burn from the intensity of his own. 

_Fuck it_. 

"Three?" He asks, and then nods once, looking beyond her shoulder, trailing, "Care to reevaluate that?" His eyes drift down her body then, from the top of her head to her face to her chest to her belly to her knees, and then he looks back up, "You gonna invite me in?" 

"I don't know." Amy says, leaning on the opposite side of the doorframe, crossing her legs, "I mean, this asshole knocked me up and then he just left, you know? But I don't think he'd like to come home to find you in his apartment." 

"Well, what if I lock the door?" He offers, slides his hand down the frame, fingers the metal lock, "Would you invite me in then?" 

"I might." She licks her lips, watches him mess with the metal, tapping it and scratching it. "Depends on what you promise to do to me."

Dan takes one step closer then, when she's too busy watching his hand, when she's not paying attention. Soon enough, he's in the apartment before she can even throw out another line. 

The door shuts, and he's in, and she is  _so_  fucking- "Amy?"

She nods, kind of eager, kind of nauseated, and her face is pink, rose. Her brows knit and she lets him grab the front of her coat, pull her closer, untying the belt and messing with the buttons. 

Her back arches, aches, and she lets out a sharp breath when he presses a hand against the low of her back, holds her steady.  _Fuck him, Jesus_. 

"Take your dress off." 

"No." 

"Fine." He undoes the buttons of her coat, and when she looks up at him, he's  _so_  close and he's smiling, and he's all eyelashes and teeth and scruff, and she  _hates_  him. But in the good sense of the word: all passion and no actually loathing. 

Whoever said love and hate were in opposition had clearly never experienced both at once. Whoever said it surely mustn't have ever felt  _this_  way. 

Her coat hangs open, and he kneels in front of her with ease, one knee on the floor. His shoes squeak, but she barely registers the sound because he's pulling up the bottom of her dress, and gathering it around her back to hold in one fist. 

It strains against her stomach and he smoothes his free hand up her side, face pressing against her abdomen, his chin resting on her pelvis. His lips brush against the soft cotton of her underwear, and she feels the muscles in her neck tighten when he does it again, only higher, harder. It kind of tickles, and she kind of loves it, and she almost fucking giggles at the feeling. 

He kisses up her stomach, stops at her creasing of her dress, moves back up her body until he's standing once again. He towers over her, and his grip on her dress tightens, and she's almost tempted to tell him to just  _get rid of it._  

She cranes her neck to reach him, pressing her lips ever so softly against the side of his mouth, sliding her hands up his neck to grab his face, running her thumbs along his cheeks, stopping at the corners of his mouth. 

He kisses her first, with pressure and determination, and she shifts in his embrace until her hands are clutching at the back of his neck, pulling him down into her, pushing herself up into him. 

It bruises, the force of his lips against her own, and bites him because she can, because she knows that he likes it when she does. 

He doesn't copy, only screws her dress up in his fist a little bit more and draws her in, forces her shape to mould into his own, refuses to let her distance herself from him. She doesn't resist. 

She just moans into his kiss, and he can feel her eyelashes bat against his face when he moves his tongue from her mouth to her jaw and back, and he can practically hear her heartbeat beneath his own chest, and he loves her for it. 

"Amy." 

It's hushed, and pleasantly hot against her lips, and comforting, and she can practically taste it, and she loves him for it. 

His hand skims back down her waist then, sliding over her hipbone to bury itself between her legs.  

She chews the insides of her cheeks, lets his touch roam over her body, soak into her as he please because it feels  _good_ , and she likes it, and she wants it. She likes him, and she likes- 

"Amy." 

His tone has changed, her name on his tongue no longer the soft mumble from just moments ago. It isn't warm, and it isn't calming, and she detects something akin to worry in his voice. 

Dan doesn't worry. He's the fucking-

She'd laugh if his face hadn't drained of colour, if he didn't look like he was going to be sick.

His brows are lowered, his lips parted just so, sheer terror painted across his face, and Amy feels her world slowly come to a halt. 

It's only when she looks down between them that she truly understands his discomfort, his fingers a fresh patchwork of pale flesh and crimson red, his wrist limb, pulse throbbing. 

"Amy, you're bleeding."


	9. Preservation

Nothing major.

That's what the doctor says, and Amy has a hard time believing her.

They hadn't been waiting long in the emergency room before she got called in and checked over. Dan had explained what happened, carefully kept his hand from grazing her skin - because she kept pulling on her sleeves, because she didn't look like she  _wanted_  him to touch her.

"It's nothing to worry about?"

Try as he might to deny it, he'd be worried. Or, at least, he'd been experiencing what he assumes is concern. Not that he has much to go off. He's never really been one for... sympathy or empathy or, you know,  _worry_.

A tightening in his gut, as though something is wrenching his intestines too tight? His heartbeat speeding up, pounding away inside his chest, reminding him that he does in fact possess the organ? The uncontrollable urge to hold her hand, tell her something reassuring, even though he doesn't do the latter because he  _can't_? That's worry, right? That's concern? Nothing less, nothing more?

_That's concern. Yeah. Obviously. What the fuck else could it be?_

"Nothing major?" She sounds almost incredulous, as though some part of her might actually want things to be worse. It's the tone in her voice that captures Dan's full attention.

It's subtle, but he catches it, knows how to unravel each and every layer of her being in a way that escapes her.

"No, just a little spotting." The doctor folds her hands in her lap, swivels around to face them, "Never anything to worry about, usually. But I do want you to take it easy-"

" _Easier_." Dan corrects before she can finish, eyes wide, gaze focused on the top of Amy's head.

"Right. Yeah. Easier than usual. Maybe try and lighten your workload, if you can? I know I'm probably asking for a lot here, but you need to take better care of your health, Amy." She practically sanctions with a nod, condescending, "Resting a lot more has never done anyone any harm."

"So it was, like, what? Stress bleeding?" Amy sighs, puffing out her chest as she lies back down on the uncomfortable bed. The paper sheet rustles and she winds her shoulders back and forth, perched up on her elbows. "The kid can't chill out for a second, huh?"

"I don't, uh-" Her doctor stands, wipes her hands down her coat, "Anyway, since you don't want to know the sex, I won't just blurt it out." She looks at Dan then, tilts her head toward the hallway, "You did."

"Yeah."

Of course he fucking did. Of course he wanted to know if he was gonna have a mini-me to model after himself, or a mini-Amy to fuck up just as he had her mother.

Leaving the room, he catches the faintest mumble slipping past Amy's lips, something along the lines of "Narcissistic prick."

_Sure, Amy_.

When the door's closed behind him, he whips his head around to face the doctor, arms folded over her chest, face strict, and he honestly feels like she's gonna dropkick his ass into next week.

"She needs to fucking rest."

_The hall-side manner on this one-_

"I know that." He frowns, keeps his hand wrapped around the handle because standing in a hospital corridor without Amy is a little unnerving. There's, like, sick people down the hall, and like-

"It's good that you know that, but you need to actually  _help_  her." She nods, informing and clear, "You two seem very co-dependant, and that's great, but it's also a risk factor. Because she's relying on you to be there, and you need to support her."

_We were like five minutes away from fucking before we had to rush here, lady. I think that means I'm pretty fuckin' reliant?_

"I bought us a fucking apartment, for fuck's sake. What, is there some kind of etiquette for expectant parents I'm not aware of?" He slides his free hand in his pocket,  ignores his phone when it vibrates, distracting him.

He's pretty sure that answering a text or a call right now is gonna go against everything this chick is rambling on about. He has to at least make it look like he gives half a crap.

She sighs, heavier than he thinks she needs to, and then her voice lowers and she glances down the hallway and back to his face, "If she keeps depriving herself of sleep, or if she overexerts herself, it's not gonna be good for her or the baby."

"Okay?" He'd shrug, but maybe that'd be a little too douchey- "You can spare me the fuckin' lecture though, doc. If you think she's gonna prioritise the kid over her job, you've clearly know jack about her. She's all work. She breathes in responsibility like it's fuckin' oxygen, all right?"

"Look, it's great that you're involved, and it's great that you're meeting all her needs, but you need to remember that she chose you."

_She didn't though, did she? She didn't choose me. She got stuck with me. We got tied together by some kind of ridiculously thick, incredibly knotted, tar-soaked tether._

"She chose you, which means you have to be her fucking compass. You have to remind her to sleep. You have to remind her to eat - because, oh, she's underweight, by the way. Crush those vitamins into her meals if you have to. She needs to be healthy, and  _stay_  healthy."

"She's not, like... dying though, right?" Because, you know... That'd just be the cherry on top of the sundae that is this last year.  _Jesus!_

"Would she have to be dying for you to pull your head out of your ass?"

Dan grunts, leans his head back against the window of the door, forcing himself to not turn around and stare at Amy through the glass. She's probably on her phone, texting Selina or Ben, bitching about him.

"No." He clears his throat, shoots the doctor a look from above, eyes heavy - because, you know, it's still the middle of the fucking night and they're still in the hospital - "What if she doesn't want the kid?"

"What?" Her shoulders lower, and her nose crinkles and Dan's not blind - she's actually kind of cute, in a nerdy way. But that's- "Are you saying she's trying to harm the baby?"

"What, no! Fuck no." He shakes his head, chews at his lip for a second, hands shifting along the doorframe, "No, she's not  _that_  batshit. She's just a little-"

"Neurotic? Shrill?"

"Tense." He's never liked it when people say she's shrill, because she's not. She's just- "And because she's tense, she's kind of a fuckin' mess. And because she's a mess, she's a little... You know."

He shrugs now, nonchalant because he's calm despite his nerves, because he's mastered the art of feigning calmness when he needs to.

"A little  _tense_." His brown eyes damn near bulge, and his neck stretches and this fucking doctor looks like she wants to bitch-slap him.

"She's pregnant with your child."

"Yeah, and she didn't wanna be."

"You both-  _She_  made the decision to keep it. If she has questions, or if she needs help taking care of her situation, then she can come see me. But in the meantime, you're her fucking lifeline. Go and buy her a burger and fries or something."

"Pizza."

"What?"

"Pizza. If we're talking junk food, she prefers pizza."

"I don't give a shit." The doctor shrugs, brushes past him and pushing his hand from the handle.

She's staring up at him, and Dan realises that he's stood still with his mouth open, as though he's on the verge of saying something.

_Oh_.

He blinks, lifts one shoulder - because he's  _chill_ , and he's calm, obviously - and he raises both brows curiously, the smallest traces of a smirk forming on his lip because, well...

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

* * *

 

"Christ, that thing again."

It's more observation than question, but he shoots her an inquisitive look all the same, because he knows it'll piss her off - but mainly because he fucking  _loathes_  that particular piece of clothing.

It's just so pink, and so bland, and so  _blah!_ and unlike anything else she owns. He doesn't understand why she owns it, much less chooses to actually wear it. It's not exactly flattering- 

"What?" Amy shakes her head, keeps her gaze focused on the television screen across the room. "Nobody's asking you to give a shit."

She brushes her hair behind her ears, pulls her legs up beneath her on the couch, almost like a child. She tugs the nightgown down her thighs, pulling the material around her knees until her legs are tucked in, warmer.

"You're not asking me to give a shit but I'm still free to give a shit." He shrugs, uselessly as she doesn't pay him any attention.

Noticing her refusal to even look at him, Dan rolls his eyes, swipes his beer from the countertop and makes his way over to her.

They'd bought takeaway and he'd practically had to shove three slices of pizza down her throat. She hadn't spoken to him at all, and he hadn't tried to speak to her after one or two failed attempts.

_You're her fucking lifeline_.

_Her_   _lifeline_.

Yeah, because that wasn't putting a lot of pressure on him. Jesus. Should he just serve up his balls on a platter right now and get it over with?

He questions his decision sometimes; wonders how he ever agreed to this, or rather, how he was the one to suggest this in the first place.

We'll move in together, and it'll be easy. We'll get engaged - fake or real, who really cares? - and it'll fun. We'll have a kid, and we'll be a family.

Maybe he was drunk when he thought this'd be a good idea. Because, really, who's he kidding? This - being with her all the time, having to spend more time focusing on her and the kid than on himself? It's fucking insane.

It'll be easy, and it'll be fun, and we'll be a family. Okay. But what if he's not ready for that? What if he fucks everything up because he jumped in while the sharks were still circling? What if he ruins everything because he's in deeper than he wanted to be?

What if he ruins her life, and their kid by proxy, because he thought he could take care of something, of someone, he never deserved in the first place?

What if-

"Okay, fine." He grumbles, pulls at the strings of his sweatpants until they loosen just the slightest. "You wanna play that game?" His brows raise, and he tosses himself down on the sofa, almost smacking into her head with his shoulder.

Amy grunts, shrugs him off when he purposely nudges her leg, knocks into her knee, "What the fuck?" She glares at him out of the corner of her eye, pulls a face when he sips (loud,  _too_  loud!) from his bottle. "Fucking hell."

"What?" Dan asks, and she can tell he's on the brink of fucking winking at her because he's just  _that much_  of an ass. "You wanted to play."

"I'm not playing a game, you fucking infant." She says, "Just because I don't feel like wearing something, fucking what,  _inviting_ , you think I'm trying to mess with you? Grow the hell up."

"You wear that back in Nevada for the human beansprout?"

Choosing to ignore him - he did ignore her first, after all - she pushes at the buttons on the remote, flicks off C-Span to settle on some european channel airing one of those gritty old black and white movies.

She doesn't even give a shit what it is or what it's about, but she turns the volume up purely to spite him because he starts talking again as soon as she settles the remote down.

But his voice gets louder, and she's never wanted to gag him more.

"What, you can't find anything in colour? We've gotta watch this medieval shit?"

He whines, sighs, and she knows that he only does it to gauge a reaction, to  _make her_  react.

"Could've put on some porn, given at least one of us something fun to watch."

"For fuck's sake." She mumbles the words below her breath, teeth grinding, but he hears her all the same.

Dan smirks down at her, nudges her bicep with his elbow, "What was that? Did you just say something?" Nudge. Nudge. "Ames? You have something to say?" Smirk. Nudge.

"No. And it'd be great if you could quit being an annoying weirdo."

"I'm being weird?"

_Again? Fuck her!_

"I'm not the one who was offering to cook dinner, Dan." She points out. "I just wanted to sit here, and see what latest fuckups our piss-stained country was dealing with tonight, but you- You keep... You keep talking and fucking asking me shit and I'm sick of it."

"I'm trying to be  _comforting_ -"

"Well, don't. Because it's not fucking comforting, and it's not reassuring. You don't have a comforting bone in your fucking body so I don't even know why you're pretending you do. It's just irritating. You're irritating."

She runs her fingers through her hair, focuses wide eyes on the coffee table, trying her hardest to ignore his movements, the way his Adam's apple bobs and his right eye twitches just the slightest.

"God, I fucking hate this. I hate having your kid. I hate being  _pregnant_  with your kid. You- You're fucking toxic, and this kid- It's poisonous. It's got your fucked-up DNA and it's just gnawing at my insides like a fucking virus."

His face seems to stiffen at that, all tired eyes and tightly-drawn lips, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Are you done?"

"No." Amy says, turning to face him then. Her expression's blank, her eyes clear. A strand of hair falls at the side of her face, but he won't move it, move to touch her. "I should've just had an abortion."

She means it, in all fairness. And he believes her, knows she means it.

Her life would be so much simpler if she wasn't pregnant, if she wasn't being put through the ringer every fucking day. Life would just run much smoother. She could just get up and she could do what she wanted and she could  _fucking drink_.

She wouldn't have other (happy) pregnant women smiling, or single women judging her. She wouldn't have greasy old men ogling her breasts (even though they haven't even fucking grown that much - but it's not like she wasn't already used to that). She wouldn't have Dan following her around like a fucking puppy, shoving a ring on her finger, trying to turn her into his latest pet project.

She wouldn't be Selina's little bitch. Well, not as much. She wouldn't be tired and cranky and horny and messy and bitchy all the time. Well-

"You really think that?"

"Yeah. And you know, it'd be easier for you, too. You could go back to fucking half of the East Coast. You could take that fucking ring back, or force someone else to wear it. I don't really care."

She shrugs, quickly, and she licks her lips. It's petty, sure, but- fuck him and his fucking half-assed attempt at codling her. Her legs pull up, and she's pulling at the bottom of her nightie.

"Think about it. You wouldn't have to face me in this." One brow hitches and then she laughs, a small chuckle, "I'm sure there are plenty of women out there right now, drunk out of their minds, wet enough that you just could glide right in." She does the hand gesture, stares him down, watches as his face turns from pale to rose.

"You want to Dan, don't you? You can go. Go fuck someone else. I know you want to. Hell, you know, I want you to. Maybe that way you can crawl out of my asshole for five seconds and I can fucking  _breathe_."

"You want me to leave?"

Maybe this would be better. Maybe he does want out. Maybe he's had one foot out the door this whole time. Maybe she's right.

Amy nods, and her face gives off nothing but honesty. She's learnt over the years. Well,  _no_. She can control her emotions, sometimes. It's just- He's so annoying, and he's always  _there_ , and she's so fed up- "Yes. I want you to leave." 

"Fine."

He stands faster than she can look up, and he's downing the rest of his beer so quickly that she's almost positive he has a head rush. The green bottle slams on the coffee table - thankfully it isn't glass because she is  _not_  up for cleaning that mess, and he definitely wouldn't clear it if he smashed it - and he's heading towards the front door no sooner than he's rounded the couch.

"Don't forget a condom. Wouldn't want anybody else being burdened with your fucking offspring!" She shouts, screams almost, folding her arms over her chest, not even bothering to look over the back of the couch.

It's not that she's sulking, or even being dramatic. She's just- Done. She's done. With him, with the way he's acting. There's only so much Good Dan she can handle, and he's pushed her to the breaking point.

He grumbles something, but she doesn't give enough of a shit to ask him about it. He slips on his sneakers, pulls a jacket over his arm - it  _is_  still March - jangles his keys in one hand (rattles them, more like) as though the noise is going to get her to look at him.

"I'm leaving."

"Go ahead."

"I'll bring you back that used condom, shall I?"

"Not if you get hit by a bus first." She whispers to herself, looking down to her lap. Her fingers fidget, and she pulls her shoulders higher, broader.

The cushions of the couch do little to make her comfortable, and her neck tightens, throat dry, when the door opens and slams behind him.

"Asshole."

* * *

 

Turns out, his mother had been in the guest bedroom the whole time. She'd fallen asleep by the time they came home from the hospital, but the slamming of the front door had woken her up, made her walk into the living room with confusion clear on her face.

She'd joined Amy on the couch after unsuccessfully suggesting the blonde catch some sleep. She was headstrong, that was for sure.

"Danny is... He's complicated."

"Everyone's complicated, that doesn't make him special." Amy says, "He's just a shit."

"Okay, yeah, he's a shit." Marie nods, offers the gentlest of smiles. "But he's a lot  _less_  of a shit than he used to be. You know that." She pats Amy's arm, retracts it quickly when the blonde glances down at the gesture. "Sorry."

"It's fine." She shrugs, shaking her head twice. "I do know that."

"I think you know why."

"I just figured he was lobotomised as part of his CBS contract." Amy smiles, or tries a smile at the very least.

Marie can't help it if her son's an absolute waste of space sometimes. She can't help it if he's a unbearable pain in Amy's ass. She can't help it if he's the only one to ever make Amy at least consider ass- Then again, she  _did_  make him, so... Maybe she  _is_  to blame.

The older woman grins, keeps her arm thrown over the back of the couch. "He's a lot to handle, I know. I raised him, Amy." She reminds her with raised brows as though she's read the blonde's mind. "I didn't raise him like that, but that's- He  _grew_  into that."

"You mean he hasn't always had a moisturising routine and a groomed sack? That's like music to my fucking ears."

"I mean," she starts, trying to ignore that last bit, "He's not the boy I raised. We taught him well. We were good parents, in our own way." She adds.

Amy frowns, chewing at the inside of her lip. "But?" They clearly fucked up as parents somewhere along the way.

"Then his dad cheated, and I stayed at first, and I think it took a toll on him. He started thinking he could get ahead in life by using women because that's what his dad did, thought of himself as some kind of new age casanova. Bankers, all suits and assholes, I tell you. It was ridiculous really." Her fingers thread through her fringe and she pulls it backwards with a slight shake of the head and a chuckle, "Should've kept him home until he was twenty-five."

"He's so awful, honestly. My dad fucking hates his guts, by the way. You can't blame him." Amy tells her, "He slept with my sister." Why did she throw that out there? Fuck, why did she just-?

" _What_?" Marie's voice dips then, and she seems to sit up straight. Amy would laugh if the memory wasn't so- "That little fucker."

"Yeah. We were- well, not in a good place because we've never been in a  _good_  place, but- Yeah." She nods, confirms, smiles a genuine fucking smile when his mother groans aloud in some kind of understanding, "Not gonna lie, I haven't entirely forgiven him."

"You shouldn't forgive him." She shakes her head, and then her hand is on Amy's shoulder again and it isn't  _not_  reassuring. "Don't forgive him for that. Forgive him for being needy and clingy and melodramatic if you can, but, heck, don't let him get away with that."

"I didn't. I got the fuck out of dodge first chance I got."

"You mean that tall guy you got engaged, too?" She questions, "I saw your interview. It was painful, to say the least. But, well, at least you dodged a bullet with that one. He didn't look like much."

"He was just... Ah, I didn't even know." Amy waves a hand, blinks rapidly to force the memory out of her mind. "He was so bad at sex."

"Compensating for the micro-penis with his height?"

"Something like that." Marie nods, all wide brown eyes and curled-up corners of her mouth, and she has the exact same face Dan does when he's intrigued, interested for all the wrong reasons, "Like, I didn't even have to do anything. He just wanted me to lie there and then he had the nerve to bitch about it, saying I was boring?" She scoffs, "I don't think I even came once."

Marie gasps, and Amy's so close to laughing at this entire situation. Is she fucking...  _gossiping_  with Dan's mom? Lord fucking help her. Damn this fucking baby for making her un-Amy. Damn this fucking devil child for normalising her even just a little bit.

"Fucking hell."

"And then I came back to a shitty job where my boss, who I've spent like a fucking decade of my life working for, back-burnered me in favour of Richard, and now look where I am."

Knocked up with your evil son's sadistic spawn and it's fucking destroying me? Carrying Rosemary's fucking baby, cranked up a notch or two?

The brunette pries, "At least tell me my boy gets you off? Please tell me Danny isn't incompetent in every aspect of his life?"

_What the fuck? So, he obviously inherited that from his fucking mother._

"He's, uh... dedicated?"

"Yeah, he gets that from his dad."

Amy's so desperate for information, mainly so she can use it against him. She knows next to nothing about his father, and having something to use against Dan? Fucking score.

But her fatigue overpowers her curiosity, and she's standing before she can contemplate the decision any longer.

"I'm gonna-" Amy nods her head towards the hallway, and she sniffles when the chill of the dimply-lit living room finally reaches her skin. Pulling at the sleeves of her nightgown, she shifts from one foot to the other, trying not to make the situation awkward.

"Right, yes." Marie stands, copies her actions.

She runs her hands down her sides, and nods once, twice (in the slightest way). She smiles down at Amy because  _of course_  she's just as tall as her son - or, well, he's just as tall as his mom - "Goodnight, Amy." 

The blonde offers the smallest of smiles, baring teeth and batting tired lashes, "Yeah. Uh, night."

She waits until Marie's down the hallway before glancing at the door one last time. It's well past two o'clock, and he's probably balls deep in some skanky college grad by now.

_Fuck him._

* * *

 

"Are those flowers?"

It's the crinkling of the plastic around the stems that has her half-awake eyes flickering open, in curious suspicion.

"Yeah." He grumbles more than speaks, and she feels him say it, breathe it, more than she hears it. "We missed Valentine's Day."

_Because it's early March and we don't do that._

"Are they for me or for your conscience?"

Dan grunts, and can hear his shoes hit the floor carelessly as he kicks them off, "Both." He lies flat on his back, his shoulder pushing against her curved back, all bone digging into spine. "Mostly for you."

He doesn't smell of anything other than beer and tequila. He doesn't smell of cheap perfume or expensive perfume or anything feminine.

She doesn't want to be that person, that girl who checks his pocket and scrolls through his phone, but- He doesn't- She  _isn't_  that person, doesn't need to be, won't be.

"Was she good?"

"Fucking- really?" He's facing her now, she can feel it. His breath runs over the back of her neck, and she pulls her legs up tighter into her body, knees to abdomen. "You're really asking me that?"

"You know what, I don't care." She rolls her eyes behind closed lids, forcing her eyes open to stare at the dresser across the room. "Just don't touch me. I don't wanna catch anything."

There's a huff, a pant, from his side of the bed, and then he's flipped over, facing her back completely. He curls both arms in front of himself, resting them between both of their bodies. "I didn't need to sleep with anyone else, Amy."

"How comforting."

"I didn't want to."

"What, do you want a fucking medal?" She hopes to Christ he can't see her reflection in the mirror on the wall, hopes he can't see the look of anguish on her face right now. It's not that she cares, it's just- He's- "Congratulations, Dan. You successfully kept your dick in your pants for one night. I'll buy you a plaque tomorrow."

"I don't-" He starts, pauses to collect himself. His voice  _softens_ , and she doesn't like it this time, "You know, I kept thinking of you." He stops, seems to wait for her to spare him a glance over her shoulder before continuing, "I was just... picturing you. Sat on the couch, by yourself, watching that shitty old romcom as though it was gonna bring you any kind of comfort. I thought 'I could do this. I could fuck that pretty redhead across the bar. And I'd probably enjoy every second of it'."

"Then why the fuck didn't you?" She sounds aggravated, she knows, but he's riling her up on purpose and it's infuriating. He's smoothing circles around her itches, covering her in goosebumps when she's already freezing.

_Yes, I get it, you dick. You can go out and fuck whoever you like. You can go out and-_

"Because I kept thinking of  _you_. Okay? Because you sitting there looking all glum and fuckin' miserable as I left the apartment earlier? That wasn't- It wasn't fun. I thought of you, and I felt guilty. And I don't even know why because it's not like you give a shit about me. I mean, fuckin' hell, Amy, would it kill you to try being with me?"

_Being, as in- What?_

"I did try."

She swallows, holds back a breath she isn't sure she wants to set free. If he hears her sob, or hiccup, or fucking  _cry_ \- If he-

God for-fucking-bid. She sits up, refuses to face him, "You made me try, so I tried, and I failed."

"I don't want you to try because it's what  _I_  want. I want you to try because  _you_  want to. I want you to try because it matters to you, not because you think it'll make things easier."

Easier, because easy is impossible. They can minimise the pain. They can place boundaries where normal people don't need them.

Dan copies her, moving to kneel behind her. His hands fall to the mattress, touching the edge of her  _fucking_  nightie, "You're no fucking picnic and this is not easy, and it's not gonna be fuckin' easy because if I don't want to kill you then you want to kill me, and we're probably doomed for fucking failure anyway, but I want you to try."

"Stop saying that."

"Which part?"

"All of it." She tells him, shooting him the briefest of looks over her shoulder (again), "What you want is the kid because you think it'll give you some kind of fucking purpose, because you want to exploit it or something. What you want is this little fantasy that you've dreamt up where we have a family and you convince me to marry you after so many years and we live happily ever after in political fucking bliss. It won't work. It never works."

"You don't know that." Dan says, like an overconfident little brat, like the eager frat boy he probably once was.

His tone frustrates her, and the way his knee digs into her lower back pisses her off, and the way his hand is so close to her leg makes her blood boil, and-

"Try me."

"What if I don't want to try?"

"I'm not asking you to put on a pretty white dress and walk down a fuckin' aisle, Amy. Just, give me something here. Meet me halfway."

"If I meet you halfway, then you'll just grab on and drag me down your dark fucking path to hell."

She moves her shoulders, lets the cold air running through the apartment blister her skin. It isn't cold enough, doesn't sting.

Placing one hand on her waist, Dan pulls at her side until she's facing him. He cups her chin in his hand (forcefully) when she refuses to meet his eye, "Amy."

"What?"

He tilts her head, waiting until her gaze falls on his mouth because it's  _enough_. He'll settle for that.

"We're already going to hell." He informs her as though it's fact, "In case you hadn't noticed, we're kind of already a package deal."

"I don't want to be."

"If you didn't, then you'd look me in the eye and calm the fuck down."

She can't do it, can't force herself to stare right at him, stare him down and let him know that she-

_Damn it. Damn him._

"Do you know why I want you to try?"

"Because you're a fucking sociopath and you need constant validation?"

"Because this," Dan waves his free hand back and forth between them, watching as she watches him, lets it wrap around her elbow, "it could work. We can work. We can be great."

"Careful, Dan. You almost sound romantic."

"Not so much romantic as pragmatic."

Amy rolls her eyes, can't help the faint smile that starts to form at the sheer thought, "Because you've got that sad little fantasy playing on a loop in that fucked-up head of yours and you're  _just about_  delusional enough to think it could it actually be real."

"Because you're the best thing for me."

"Is this where you propose for real?"

"Would you wear a pretty white dress if I did?" His brows raise, his face teasing, so smug he may as well be chewing gum with his mouth open, sloppy. "You wanna take a trip down the aisle?"

She snorts, "Not even  _halfway_. Besides, my dad would  _never_  let me marry you."

"What are you, sixteen?" He asks, "You don't need Daddy's permission to marry me."

"He'd fucking kill you. I'd probably be the one handing him the shovel to dig your grave in his backyard."

"You wouldn't even help out your poor husband?" His fingers crawl up her elbow, dance along her bicep, tugging at and riding up the sleeve of her shirt, "You wouldn't wanna die with me?"

"And miss out on the funeral? No fucking way. I've got  _so_  many stories to tell people. Gonna piss all over your name and reputation. Maybe start a bonfire, burn all your fucking suits."

"Yeah? You can wear this piece of shit to my funeral if you want. At least I won't be around to see it." He scrunches it up between his fingers, and she looks down when his face turns from amusement to astonishment, "Not gonna lie about it, it's actually kind of soft."

"See? Who needs lace panties..."

She nudges him this time, stretches her legs out and moves her body around so her back is resting against his chest. His left hand slips to her side when they're both lay down, resting his arm beneath her pillow, and his right hand reaches around her front, fingers curling, threading through her hair, crook of his elbow comfortable around her neck.

"Well, I mean, you could still-"

"Shut up."

Dan scratches his brow with the hand at her front, blinks, thinking. He can feel her breath on his skin, feel the hair of his forearm stick up at the sound of her voice, warm despite the broken radiator.

"D'you wanna know the sex?"

"No. Don't care."

"It's a boy."

She hits him, smacking his arm with the back of her hand, "You prick!"

"Amy?"

She doesn't reply, only makes a little grunting noise, backs up into him as though that'll suffice.

"This kid's so fucked."

"I know." She agrees, grabs her pillow from his hand and pulls it closer, pressing her face into the cotton, pushing her backside further into him because he's warm and his body is, she finds, a perfect harmony of softness and roughness. "Dan?"

"Yeah?"

"I hate roses."

"I know." There's a low chuckle, and she feels his fingers tighten in her hair, gripping and grasping but not quite pulling, "I left the peonies in the kitchen."

It's subtle, the way he remembers everything about her - so subtle that he doesn't even know he's doing it most of the time. He knows how many layers she has, knows just how to unravel each and every one. He knows her inside and out, knows just how to calm her down, how to rile her up when he wants to.

He knows what she needs when she needs something, knows how to handle her when she spins, falls and loses herself. And, in some way, he think she's come to rely on him. And he likes it, likes that she needs him sometimes. He kind of likes being her compass, her fucking lifeline.

Nobody else gets her; understands her when she needs it or possesses her when she wants it. Nobody else worries, has an aching feeling in the pit of their stomach when she's even in some pain. Nobody else cares enough to try with her.

That's concern, right? Nothing less, nothing more?

Maybe, maybe not.

It's only when she kicks him in the shin and grabs his hand that he thinks it might be more than that, more than a little feeling.

It's only when she falls asleep and he finds calmness in the steady rhythm of her breath that he thinks this might be more than a fleeting thing, than a passing emotion.

"Asshole."

Fuck.

He's never been good with emotions, identifying them or processing them, but- Shit, he didn't ever want to feel  _this_.

What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

_That's love, you fuckin' idiot._


	10. Deflection

"Ladies," Dan waltzes into the office, not even looking up from his phone as the door swings to a close behind him, "How's little Dick?"

"He's doing really well." She nods, clearing her throat as she shares a smile with Marjorie. Everyone's already in the office for the meeting, and of course Dan had been the last addition. "We're actually calling him Richie now. It's important that he-"

"That's great." Dan shoots her a small look, teeth gritting to form the falsest smile she's ever been greeted with. "Hey, Ben, can I speak to you outside for a sec?" He says, nodding his head towards the door.

Catherine resigns herself at that, leaning back in her chair, "I thought Amy was fixing him."

With a groan, Ben stands up, hands curled around the back of his seat, "Jesus, what, did you run over a hobo on the way over because I'm not gonna help you bury the body-"

"What? No." Dan shakes his head with a slight frown, lowers his phone to his side. He pulls on his tie with his free hand, nods towards the hallway (again), keeping his eyes on the back of Selina's head, "Just-"

Ben follows him, pulling the door shut behind them.

"What the fuck are they doing?" Selina's spun around now, attention focused on the two men out in the hall, "Ame? Can you keep a leash on your side-bitch, please?"

"He's not my... side-bitch, ma'am. He's just a little bitch."

Selina seems to agree, sending her a knowing look. "Still, make sure he isn't plotting behind my back. Kill him if you have to. And get Kent to help you raise the kid. He's never got anything going on and he's probably a better fuck than Dan anyway."

Kent redirects his gaze, resting his forearm on the table, "Actually-"

"So," she starts anyway, clapping her hands together, "Do we have news on-"

"Ma'am," Dan steps back into the room, head peaking around the doorframe, "Can I steal Amy for a quick sec?"

"Uh, no, you may fucking not." She pulls a face, as though it's obvious. "You're gonna get own on one knee, you do that in here, amigo. Gary," she snaps her fingers, "film this. Upload it to YouVine."

"YouTube."

"No, I-" He pauses, lets Ben brush past him in a hurry. "It's about Danny Chung."

Selina's lips draw thing, and she smoothes her hands up her sides until they reach her hips, "What's America's favorite terrorist done now? Set fire to another tank? Tell me he was actually in it this time."

"Sadly, no," Ben interrupts, back in his seat, back to swigging his brew, "He's been having talks with Tom James-"

"Tom fucking James?" She shrieks, tries to hold back a scream, "That fucker's out to fuck me again." She shakes her head, waves a hand when Gary offers a glass of water, "Wait, I thought- I thought you three goons said that _Chung_ was running?"

"He never _said_ he was running, he suggested he might be considering it." Kent points out with a hand held up, stern, "Dan was the one who suggested he use this," his palm shakes and there's a slight roll to his eyes, " _tank_ story to his advantage."

"I swear to God, I'm gonna get a tank and drive it through his front fucking door and blow his wife's face off. And his little kids, too. Then he'll have a new fucking tank story to tell."

Amy mumbles, "We can't do that, ma'am."

"I know that, Amy." She snaps, squinting, "Obviously, I know that we can't do that. But we can hire someone." She suggests, voice lowered, "Right?"

"I don't-"

"You see, the problem now lies in that Tom James is still the people's person. Sales figures of his published memoir have been through the roof-"

"Memoir in which he _fucked_ me."

"He's _still_ blue-collar, working class America-"

"No, no, you know, fuck that." Selina rebuts, and it's her turn to wave her hands around in circles, "He's not blue collar. _I_ am blue collar. He's that fucking black-collar, transvestite-"

"Transylvanian." Gary corrects, and she nods, snaps her fingers twice.

"He's that fucking Transylvanian vampire that goes around biting people in the fucking ass. And, believe me, I've fucked the guy... He bites."

"Either way," Amy starts, smoothing circles into the back of her phone with her thumb as she talks, "He can't _run_. If he runs, then you're done for." She blinks, keeping it short and sweet (no, bitter - because she's Amy, and Amy can't really _do_ sweet), looks back and forth between Dan and Ben, "What did you find out?"

Because he told her this morning that he might have something, and he was running late because he was chasing a lead. (As thought he's some kind of secret operative or some shit, please.)

"It's not clear if he's just gonna endorse, or if they're... you know, conspiring." His eyes bulge, make things bigger than they seem, "He could be Tom's veep."

There's a loud growl then, and most eyes turn to Selina. She has her hands on her hips, and she's bent over at the waist.

"I'm fucked." She says, mumbles over and over again, "I'm fucking _fucked_."

"Ma'am-"

"Shut the fuck up, Gary!" Her back twinges and there's the crack of a tightly wound muscles, "Ame? Am I fucked?"

"I don't-" With a pause, the blonde shakes her head, shoulders drawn in.

 _Oh, so,_ now _she's her wise council? Where the fuck is Richard anyway?_

Amy chews at her lip, holds up one hand, phone clutched tight like she's never gonna let it go, "We still have a campaign-"

"What good is a campaign if I have a better chance of getting molested by a couple of buddhist monks than winning the actual fucking presidency?"

* * *

"She's spiralling."

"No, she's been spiralling for years. Now she's just free falling face first to the fucking floor."

"Yeah, well, she might wanna stop screwing every guy who has sway in D.C if she wants to get her fuckin' munchkin legs back in the Oval-"

"Fuck a priest," Amy mutters through gritted teeth, her eyes shifting from Dan's shoulder to the cereal boxes on the shelf next to him.

"What?" Dan follows her eyes, frown lines creasing until he glances over his shoulder, body unmoving, and then he groans, confusion turning to frustration. "Ah, fuck."

"Amy."

"Buddy."

"Danny Egan."

"It's Dan."

"Not to me." The man shakes his head, and he slips one hand into his front pocket, "Fancy bumping into you two."

"Well, we live here and you definitely fuckin' don't, so-"

"What are you doing here, Buddy?" She cuts Dan off, enunciates her ex's name, practically clicking her tongue with a fake smile plastered on her face. "Or did Nevada pick up and move overnight and we've unknowingly crossed state borders?"

"No," he takes a couple steps closer to the pair then, and either he doesn't catch the perma-glare on Dan's face or he's purposely ignoring it, "I'm actually here for business, Ames."

 _He didn't just- He does_ not _get to use that nickname._

Dan scans him up and down as he talks, rambling on about some lame job that he's been securing ever since Amy up and left him.

It's not the first time they've met, or spoken, but it's the first time Dan's actually given enough of a shit to size him up. And he's decided that he won't ever understand why or how or _fucking why_ Amy ever left D.C. to shack up with a human fucking Q-Tip.

 _Nice_ or not, he's a fucking joke. And he wasn't exactly _nice_ when he assaulted an officer, was he?

The idea that Amy actually stuck around after that - no matter for how short a time period - and stood by his side, claimed she wanted to fucking settle down with him? Dan hates the guy, and he's only, like, fifty percent sure as to why.

"You working here now?"

"No, I'm just here to settle some paperwork." He nods, and he's just that much of a fucking bobblehead that Dan's pretty sure his head is gonna fall off, "Heading back home tomorrow, you know."

He shrugs, and it's kind of suggestive, and he's kind of staring at Amy, and Dan kind of wants to punch him in the fucking face.

He doesn't even know why, or if he could take him - he probably could, to be honest, because Buddy's all limbs and no muscles, and as lean as Dan is, he's not a piece of fucking grass with legs - but the fucking urge is still there.

"Well," the blonde starts, picking a random box of cereal from the shelf, tossing it into the basket on Dan's arm, "This has been fun."

Buddy kind of chuckles, and he shakes his head with the slightest roll of his eyes, "Wow."

"Wow, what?" She frowns then, all knitted brows and parted lips. Her cheeks flush when he doesn't reply right now, doesn't cut her off, "What, were you expecting some kind of apology?"

He just stares at her, and it's weird, and if Amy won't let him punch the guy then he can-

"Jesus, fine. I'm sorry I bruised your peachy little ego and didn't send a card." She groans after, and spins back around, "Dan."

"You could have warned me." Buddy voices, and she's so fucking tempted to whack him over the head - Dan can just _tell_ , and maybe that's why she won't let him be the one to knock him out, because she wants to do it herself - with the shopping basket, "You abandoned me right in the middle of the campaign, Amy. My fiancée."

"To be honest, I don't think it would have fuckin' made much of a difference if she'd stayed 'til the end."

_In what world did Dan think saying that was going to help?_

Amy sighs, pressing her hand to Dan's elbow to push past him. She steps between the two men, staring up at her ex-fiancé with tired eyes, "In case you couldn't tell, you illiterate fucking llama, I'm kind of pregnant. And because I'm pregnant, I'd _like_ to leave here with two pints of ice cream and a bag of spinach I'll probably shit out later, but if I have to I'll have the cashier ring up your fucking skull and pile it up with the rest of last year's half-priced Halloween decorations."

"Wow."

" _Stop_ fucking saying that."

"Amy Brookheimer, ladies and gentlemen."

Buddy claps twice, looks around as though the fucking corner store is gonna be packed at this time in the evening. It isn't, and that one other person down the end of the aisle couldn't give less of a shit about his little display. His face is so fucking annoying, and he's so fucking annoying, and his voice-

"Look, why don't you just go back to your crappy little office or wherever the fuck you crawled out from?" Dan waves his hand up and down, as though to shoo the man away. He's grinning, though, and Amy thinks he'd probably do better to stop looking so smug.

It's not like Buddy's one for arguing or much of a fighter - the idea of the two of them scraping down the cereal aisle _is_ kind of entertaining - but Dan rubbing his status as her... What? The father of her unborn child? Future co-parent? Pretend fiancé who bought her a very real fucking ring?

"Should've guessed _you_ 'd be her knight in shining armour. She always did like being a prissy little dick-tease."

_Well, that's a-_

"Excuse me?" She squeaks, blue eyes wide.

Dan groans, rolling his head around as though he's stretching out his neck, eyes closed, "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Buddy raises a brow, leans one hand against the railing beside him, "Means you didn't waste anytime getting her to loosen up, did you?"

God, that fucking twang in his voice is _infuriating._

"Guess I didn't." Dan shrugs, because the urge to piss him off overpowers the urge to punch him, but he's smirking now and Amy can't decide who she wants to hit more, "Helps if you're not a complete fuckin' creep."

"Dan."

"I mean, fuck, she was practically on her knees begging for it when I fucked her so I don't know what kind of half-assed job you and your travel size dick were doing but, you know, keep up the good work, buddy. You're giving the rest of us something to feel proud of." He pats him on the arm, and Amy watches as the taller man's eyes drift from Dan's face to his hand.

_Fuck._

"Dan!"

_Clearly he hasn't handled the break-up very well._

"Amy," Buddy clears his throat, and focuses his eyes on her mouth and she really wants to just slap him, and not in the irritated way she _always_ wants to slap Dan, "You gonna let him talk about you like this?"

_Hypocritical much?_

At least Dan knows he's an ass and accepts it as a character flaw - or, well, this _is_ Dan so he probably thinks it's a quality.

Buddy just... doesn't. He doesn't acknowledge how much of a dick he actually is. He plays it nice, and he's sweet, but he's a fucking-

"Let me think, you embarrassed me on national television by insulting me and assaulting an officer," she leaves out the part where Dan played that footage on repeat, publicly because he's the lesser of two evils right now, "and then you thought I'd actually marry you even after you threw all my work right back in my face."

_Yeah, pretend Dan has never thrown anything back in your face, Ames. Good strategy. That'll work. But, in all fairness, it's not like he's ever pretended to be anything other than a fucking shit. At least he's trying now, and he's-_

"What, you thought after a year together I was just gonna turn into some kind of fucking domesticated little lady who doesn't work and stays at home cooking you casserole dinners? It's the twenty-first fucking century, Buddy. Grow the fuck up."

"You left me."

"Over a _fucking_ year ago. Just find someone else to keep your bed warm while you masturbate yourself to sleep under the fucking duvet." She growls, "You two wanna continue your dick-measuring contest, you can do it without me."

Amy snatches the basket from Dan then, yanking it out from under his arm and elbowing him in the ribs.

"I'm your wheels." Dan swings the keys in his palm, jangling them around.

Not even looking back over her shoulder, she says, "Then hurry the fuck up."

"You guys are living together?" Buddy stammers, voice lower than a moment ago - as though he's calmer now Amy's out of earshot - his throat dry.

"Yeah." Dan's eyes widen and he nods, clearly amused, "Engaged. Same bedroom and everything. Has its perks." He tilts his head to the side briefly with a shrug, shit-eating grin ever-fucking-present, "You know."

"You," The Nevadan starts, folds his arms over his chest as he stares at Dan, "That interview, when you mentioned that you two- It made sense."

"What did?"

_Can he sign out of this fucking conversation already? Can he just go pay for some fucking Cornflakes or whatever the fuck it was she picked up and call it a goddam night?_

"The way she talked about you."

"Yeah?" If he were a dog, his ears would probably perk up, "What'd she say?"

"Why don't you ask her?" Buddy suggests, and then he's the one signing out and walking away, and Dan has half a mind to run after him and trip him up (just for kicks).

* * *

"I can't believe you made me buy those."

She swings the bag of candy shoelaces around, a corner held tight between her fingertips, "What, you mean you don't want one?"

"No, Amy, I'm a grown adult. I don't want your candy." He slides the brown bag over the counter. Dan leans on his elbows, hands clasping together against the worktop, watch clanging against the marble, "I've already had it anyway."

"You're such a child." She rolls her eyes, pulling the packet open with her teeth, "Put the ice cream away before it melts."

He sighs, but in good spirits because he smiles and lets out a half-laugh when he pulls the freezer door open to find two boxes of pistachio ice cream already in the top drawer.

"Jesus, you got some kind of fetish?" He pulls out the box with less in it, replacing it with the two smaller ones they just bought. He slams the door with his foot, kicking it shut with a bang. "Amazing."

Dan grabs the tub, flicking off the lid with a bit of a struggle because it's frozen shut, and he watches as Amy pulls a spoon from the cutlery drawer.

"What, you're not gonna give me any?"

The blonde pulls a face, picking up another spoon and sliding it over to him when he drops the tub on the counter. She sits down on a stool.

"You know you're gonna balloon up if you keep eating this, right?"

"You're the one who had some shady ass conversation with my obstetrician and told me I needed to gain weight. Or is fattening me up your latest attempt to tie me to you forever because no one else could _ever_ want me if I was fat?"

"Yeah, like, healthy weight. I don't think shoving a tub of Häagen-Dazs down your throat once a week constitutes healthy eating."

She grumbles something, then, "Healthy eating can eat my ass. Nobody's told me the kid's gonna have fucking scales or AIDS or something so I'm taking that to mean I'm doing fine. Then again, it's yours so it'll probably come out riddled with like twelve different kinds of STD."

It's Dan turn to roll his eyes, and he wags his spoon around, damn near shoving it in her face from across the counter, tapping her on the nose instead, "You could do worse. You could be having one of Jonah's creatures."

She wipes the sticky cream from the bridge of her nose, frowns, "Please, I wouldn't let that talking test tube come near me if I was wearing a fucking hazmat suit." Amy informs him, "Besides, I pity any woman who hates herself so much that she'd let that lamppost bare-back her. Even I've never stooped that low."

"You hate yourself, Ame?" He'd probably sound more concerned if she couldn't _hear_ the smirk in his voice, "My dick didn't cure you?"

"What, that little alabaster thing you call a cock?" She smiles, licks her spoon slowly, "Yeah, you fucking wish, Dan."

He wiggles both brows, "You know you own it now, right?"

"Am I supposed to feel special because you found somewhere warm to hide that thing and it happens to be between _my_ legs, or because you threw me overboard and _then_ decided to jump in the water?" She blinks, all long lashes and pink lips from the chill of the dessert, "No, wait- I know, I'm supposed to consider it a privilege that you've mapped out the rest of my life for me. I'm taking one for the team, aren't I?"

"You wouldn't like your life if I wasn't in it, Amy." He tells her. And he's not wrong, but he's also not- "I didn't."

"You didn't like your life without you in it?" She quips, "Interesting story, Dan, tell me more. How was limbo?"

"I didn't like it when _you_ weren't in my life." He corrects himself, and he can tell she's enjoying this.

"That almost sounds romantic."

"It wasn't supposed to." He shrugs then, and pries the metal spoon from her fingers, watching her knuckles turn from snow white to porcelain, "I was aiming for honest."

"Honest?" She smirks, "Dan, the only kind of honesty you've ever been able to show is the 'cruel to be cruel' kind. There's nothing honest about you."

"What, and there is about you?"

"At least I'm loyal when I know it's gonna count."

"I'm loyal to you."

"Congratulations, you've found the one semi-decent bone in your body. How does it feel knowing you can be kind of _normal_?"

He raises one shoulder, keeps it up when his hand finds his hip, "Not gonna lie, it's kind of nice." Well, it's not _nice_. And there's a constant ache in his chest, and he mostly _always_ wants to touch her, and he doesn't like it when-

It's not nice, but it's a _feeling_. (He thinks.)

And that's progression, right? That's good? He's evolving, isn't he?

_Isn't this what normal people do?_

"Oh my God, you're actually becoming a regular human being. You should've knocked me up years ago, this is fucking amazing."

"Like you'd have let me."

"Like you'd have done anything other than drive me to the nearest abortion clinic."

"You're right." He nods, because she is right and he's not even gonna bother lying about it. See? He can be honest.

Amy smiles (soft), "I know." She looks down at the counter then, feels his eyes burning a hole into the top of her skull when she reaches across and stabs his hand with her index finger (twice) right between his knuckles.

"The fuck? What, did you slip some batshit juice into your water or what?" He stretches his fingers (quickly), catches her hand in the palm of his hand before she move it around. His grip tightens, and his pinkie presses against the pulse of her wrist.

"You're being weird."

Her pulse quickens, which he's pretty sure means her heartbeat has sped up, too, and Dan smirks because _of course_ her heart would beat faster when he touched her just the slightest. She's so predictable.

"No, I'm not."

"Then let go of me."

"What if I don't to?"

"Then I'll stab you in the neck." She shrugs, and it's not a _great_ comeback (she knows).

"Yeah?" Dan challenges, "You kill me now, and I bet you five bucks you'll be like a grieving widow at my funeral. All hysterical and shit."

"How am I supposed to get paid if you're dead, idiot?"

"Whatever."

"And if you think I wouldn't be able to cope without you, you're sorely fucking mistaken, Dan." She tugs her hand away, shaking her arm off to _lose_ the feeling of his skin against her own, "You'd be screwed if I wasn't around for you to torment or stalk. You'd have no one to cling onto."

"I did fine when you were gone."

Amy smiles, and he can tell it's meant to piss him off because her lips pull thin and she squints, "I'm sure hanging around with bimbos who get by in life purely on fake tits and that designer snatch between their legs was doing a lot to stimulate your fucking ego."

"It did, actually." He confirms, and his little nod irritates her because he's so fucking _proud_ to admit it, "Was fun for like twenty minutes but then they started talking-" he pulls a face (reminiscing), and his hands drop to his sides, "Guess I did need you, after all, Ames."

_Prick._

"That'd be flattering if I actually believed it."

"Not like I haven't already proven it." He shrugs, and his eyebrows raise when his shoulders do, and then he turns to one side, leans one elbow on the counter, "You're gonna admit it eventually, you know."

"Admit what?" She sounds ticked off, as though she already knows _what_ , what he's not-so-subtly referring to.

"That you love me."

"Why would I admit that when it's not true?"

"No need to get defensive, Amy. It's an observation."

"Dan," she starts, and she rounds the corner to meet him. She's a foot smaller and her little heels do nothing to match his height, "Nobody could love you. You're unloveable. You're like the- the,"

Amy shakes her head, "You're like period cramps. Nobody wants you, or likes you, but if the poor woman's still young enough you're just _there_ to piss her off and fuck around with her fucking ovaries. Which is kind of ironic really because now your fucking demon child has taken up residence in my uterus and I _still_ have the goddamn headache."

"Jesus fuckin'-" Dan grimaces, pushes up off of his arm so he can tower over her just that little bit more, "Nice."

"I'm not nice, Dan. Don't act so fucking surprised. If you wanted nice, you should've fucked a Malibu Barbie doll instead."

"I did, Amy. But if I wanted nice, I wouldn't want you."

"Why do I want to believe that?"

Dan grins, only it's less scheming than usual and a little more sincere than she thinks he ever intended it to be, "Because it's fuckin' true and you know it."

His bottom lip lowers and his teeth are so white and pearly and sharp that she has half a mind to alert the media that she has, in fact, found the Big Bad Wolf himself.

"Fine. Then I believe you."

"And you love me."

"Do you really need someone to love you that badly? Dan, you wouldn't know a feeling if it sat on your face and choked you to death."

His smile broadens and Amy _flushes_ \- she doesn't mean to, it just happens (fucking hormones!) - and he touches the crook of her elbow with one finger and Amy fucking _blushes_ \- she doesn't want to, it just happens ( _fucking_ hormones!).

"I'd know a feeling if _you_ sat on my face-

She rolls her eyes and pushes a hand to his chest, giving him a half-assed shove. Thinking he could go even two minutes without making some kind of suggestive comment was a stupid idea, she knows. It was one minute too many.

"I would happily let your little flowerbed of dead roses ride me for days." He teases her, "Might be a little fuckin' thorny, but I'll make an exception because, you know, you love me and all."

"No thornier than that piss poor collage of old man pubes you've glued to your fucking face." She pushes her clenched fist against his chin, knuckles scraping against his light beard, but she lets him grab ahold of her wrist this time.

Dan tightens his grip but it doesn't hurt - and later that night when she notices how it hasn't even left a mark, she'll know it's because her skin has accepted and made a home for his touch, so much so that she doesn't even feel him anymore (he just _is_ ).

"Say it."

"No."

"Then I'll say it."

"No."

"No?"

"No," her head shakes and she smoothes a hand down the side of his face, staring at his mouth instead of his eyes, "We don't want to hurt that pretty little head of yours."

"You think I can't-"

"I know you. And I know you _don't_." Amy smiles, only it's somber and he hates it, and something in his chest makes him want to kiss her or throw her or fuck her, "So don't."

"What if I want to?"

"Tough shit."

"What if I want you to want me to?"

"You want me to want you to torture me?"

"I want you to want me to tell you that I love you."

"Well," her gaze lowers and she pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and she's fucking nervous, and Dan wants to- what? _hold_ her? _Fuck_. "I don't want you to."

"To love you or to tell you that I do?"

"Both. Neither."

"Fine."

"Good."


	11. Invasion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is totally filler, and it’s so much shorter than the other chapters. But I’ve had it written for awhile now, and if I don’t post it now I probably won’t be updating for another few months. Enjoy.

  
"I'm just saying, I don't understand why your dad's such a prick." He shrugs, and she doesn't have to look at him to know there's a smug grin on his face, "Your mom loves me."

Amy rolls her eyes because, well, why shouldn't she?

"Dan, my mom loves everyone. It's nothing to brag about." She shoves her hands into her coat pockets, "You aren’t even the apple of your own mother's eye."

He scowls beside her, though it's more of an annoyed glare than anything else, "You're just jealous she likes me better than she likes you."

Could he sound like any more of a child?

"Sure." She pouts, nods once, twice to the door. "Just ring the fucking doorbell."

"What, so your fuckin' dad can knock me down the front steps? I'm good. Is there no, like, key hidden under a plant-pot or some shit?" He looks down, around, all six feet of him split in half as he kicks at a large potted rosebush, hands refusing to leaves his pockets.

She's considering pushing him down the steps herself… or kicking him.

Amy watches, half-amused, half in disbelief, "There's no fucking key. Besides, my dad's not even here, so man the fuck up and ring the-"

Just then, the front door opens wide, Amy’s mom right in front of the pair.

She places one hand on her hip, tilts her preppy blonde hair to the side with an overbearing smile, “I thought I heard voices.”

“Yeah, it was Dan and his multiple personalities.” Amy quips, and she pulls her scarf from around her neck as she brushes past her mother in the doorway, “Maybe _one_ of them’s normal.”

* * *

"Go ask Uncle Danny what contraceptives are."

Sophie shoves her kids into the living room, a hand on either of their backs. She rubs her palms down her sides after, looking back up at Amy with a grin.

"What?"

"What?" The older sister copies, and the corners of her mouth curl up even more, all mocking and mean, lips thin. She folds her arms over her chest, raises one eyebrow when Amy just stares, "You could've just taken a morning-after pill, Amy."

_Oh, you're so fucking wise, Sophie._

"I know."

"Or, what, were you just that desperate to lug his sperm around inside you for nine months?"

"Okay, that is _not_ how it works-"

"I know, Amy!" Sophie cuts her off, all squinty eyes and mouth agape, "I'm two kids ahead of you."

"Jesus Christ, and you’re proud of that?" Amy snorts, holds back the shortest of laughs, "Congratulations, I guess," she shrugs, avoids her sister's eye, "I'm sure it was hard work finding two off-duty drug dealers to fuck you down a pitch-black alleyway in exchange for some of your expired twat juice."

Sophie pulls a face, but her grin is still just _there_ , and Amy still really fucking hates it.

"Everything alright in here?" Their mom peeks her head around the corner then, towel thrown over her shoulder. She glances back and forth between her daughters, curiosity clear across her face.

"We're fine, mom."

"Yeah, yeah. Amy was just after some tips on breastfeeding."

Amy rolls her eyes, mumbles, "If you think I'm having another human being latching onto my tit and sucking the life out of me, you're-"

"Amy!" Her moms scolds, "The kids." She says, as though that's reason enough, as though they aren't in a completely different room.

"Yeah, Amy. Watch your language." Sophie adds, "I'll get you a swear jar when the little monster arrives."

"Well, that's all you can afford, so..." The shorter blonde says, following her mother's lead into the kitchen.

She's back at the sink, soapy plate in her hands. Sophie's oldest is at her side, drying plates and stacking them up into a pile. The other two are sat at the island, balancing on stools. One of them will fall over soon, and when Sophie starts fussing, Amy's gonna make a run for it.

The youngest keeps smacking Dan's arm, ignoring his very obvious grumbles of irritation, and the other is pestering him about something - probably asking him about contraceptives because they're Sophie's kids and they're just as dumb as their fucking mother.

Dinner was _not_ fun.

"Dan."

"Yeah?" He looks up, seems almost grateful for her presence.

"What are you doing?"

"He's practicing, what do you think he's doing?" Sophie butts in, brushing past Amy to make her way over into the living area of the room. “Somebody’s gonna have to watch your kid, Amy.”

Dan shoots her a glare, watching as she plops down on the sofa, "Yeah, like our kid's gonna be as annoying as your basta- baskets of joy." He mutters, smiles (well, he tries to) down at the youngest then, prying the kid's hand from off of his watch, because it was _not_ cheap and he's not gonna let some sweaty-

_The little shit altered the time! Jesus-_

"Mom, we're gonna head out."

"What?" The older blonde's head whips around then, and she frowns, "No, you're not, I already talked to Danny about it." She shakes her head, looks over to Dan with that look she reserves for him and him only, as though he's the freshest thing since sliced bread, "You didn't tell her?"

Amy grits her teeth, "Dan?"

"Listen, it's a long drive," he starts (whiny), and she's already not sold. _Bullshit, Dan_. "and you shouldn't be driving," _bullshit_ , "and I'm exhausted," _bullshit_.

_What the fuck are you up to?_

"So?" Amy pries, keeps her eyes on his face until her mom speaks up.

"So, you're staying in your old room tonight." She smiles, and Amy hates how much she can't resent her, "I'm sure that boss of yours will be fine with you coming in just a little bit late-"

"No, she won't-" Amy goes to hold up a finger, to correct her mother, but Dan grabs her elbow and lowers her hand, thumb digging into the crook of her arm.

"Selina's already agreed. Besides, she's having a late start tomorrow, too." He says it so smoothly that Amy can't tell if he's lying or not.

But then he looks down at her, and his eyes are wide, and his teeth kind of _grind_ , and he's- Yeah. Okay. He's a smooth liar. But what else is new?

"Right."

"Okay." Amy complies, wiggling out of his grasp until he lets go of her arm, shoves his hands into his pockets.

_Wait. Where is- Where is her phone?_

It's not that she's panicking, but she's not not panicking. And it's not that her phone is her whole life, but it's also kind of a good fucking portion of it.

_Did he-?_

"It's getting late, anyway, so we should probably-" Dan trails off, and he raises his eyebrows, smiles over at her mother, all charming and creepy and it fucking _works_ because (of course) her mom is gullible as shit. Of fucking course, her mom is putty in Dan's hands.

_We should what, Dan?_

She disappears down the hallway before he can grab her again, before he can charm the actual life out of her mother this time.

"Are you two gonna bone in her childhood bedroom? Oh my God, Amy." Sophie laughs from her spot on the couch, the middle child in her lap. "Guess those spelling bee trophies are finally gonna see some action."

Fuck Sophie.

"It was debate," Amy corrects her, not even stepping back into the room. But her tone is raised, irritated. The only problem is that she doesn't see her sister's face mimicking her from the other room.

And she's already halfway up the stairs when she hears Dan throw into the mix, "Kids, it was nice meeting you. Sophie, just as unceremoniously trashy as ever. Goodnight, Brookheimers."

He probably winks at her mom just for good measure.

* * *

 

"Jesus, did you ever leave the fucking library?"

She assumes he's referring to the dozens of academic trophies scattered across bookshelves and tables. She kept them stored in her closet when she still lived at home, only half-ashamed to have won so many.

Trust her parents to put them out on display like some kind of fucking shrine.

"Whatever." Her eyes roll, and she can tell he's smirking over at her from across the room. _Fuck him._ "Can you stop?"

"Stop _what_?"

"Stop acting like you're imagining me back in high school." Amy tells him, and she spins around to face him, only to find that he's right beside her now. "It's creepy."

"It's hot." Dan raises both brows suggestively before lowering them just as quickly, "I just can't decide if you were the jeans and sweater type of smart, or the pigtails and short skirts."

"I don't know, Dan. Why don't you find my yearbook and see for yourself." It's a joke, not a suggestion, and she corrects herself when his face lights up. "Do _not_ fucking look for my yearbook."

"Fine." He shrugs, because he was only half-interested anyway, "I'll just ask your mom."

"You're so gross."

"And yet, here I am, Ames. In your family home, in your childhood bedroom." He'd sound like a pervert if she didn't know him better, "Here you are, having _my_ kid."

"You can't let one day go by without bringing that up, can you?"

Dan shakes his head, and he steps closer but he doesn't touch her, "No. It's kind of the elephant in the room."

"Are you calling me an elephant?"

"I'm saying it's a little hard to pretend you're not up the duff, Ames." He gestures down to her stomach, wiggles a finger back and forth between them. "Jesus, are you gonna get fucking triggered every time I say something?"

"I wouldn't be so touchy if you weren't so naturally cruel."

_Like she isn't._

"Gotta be cruel to be kind, sweetheart. Shakespeare said that." He points out.

Amy smirks, "Shakespeare wasn't unlucky enough to have ever met _you_ , Dan."


End file.
